Bleeding Heather
by Kamikins
Summary: "Alfred and Arthur are just your typical "Romeo and Juliet": two lovers torn apart by the prejudices of their respective families. In all fairness, no werewolf has ever hooked up with a vampire. Until now." Vampire!AU, Werewolf!AU, and Merfolk!AU
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_

So the characters and the basic storyline of this are based off the tumblr ask-blog ask - theundeadhusbands. Check 'em out!

* * *

 _Prologue_

Renate had been a silly young maid: frivolous and foolish and tripping over her words as if she had forgotten how to use them. Her heather blue eyes would bat incessantly at any gentleman with the bollocks to approach her properly (as any suitor should approach a lady), but her palm would only perspire for one suitor in particular – _him_. Arthur Kirkland, a wealthy bachelor who lived in seclusion up the hill, was Renate's target and had been for some time. His hair, soft and billowing in the breeze like fresh wheat, bore a healthy glow and shone as brilliantly as the sun. It was always tied back smartly in a handsome ponytail. His eyes either resembled two emeralds in the pocket of a sorrowful peddler or two crisp leaves from a baby oak, trapped in a layer of vines beneath a pale, broken fence. Renate had not decided yet, and alas her poetry had not subdued the burning desire trapped just beneath her bosom. He truly was a handsome man, and she had been told many times that she was a handsome woman. He was wealthy and she was a butcher's daughter eagerly seeking romance. It was a match made in heaven, she thought.

She had been easy prey, just a midnight walk through the dozing fields and into the forest and their engagement could be sealed. Hell on earth, Arthur had very little to do in terms of persuasion – the girl's mind bent freely. She was even easier to seduce. Eyes blazing with hunger, unnoticed by the poor lass naturally, Arthur bent low and began to peck lightly at her neck, then took to sucking eagerly until the pale skin was littered with bruises, and finally had her all but disrobing in his cool grasp. He glanced upwards when he bit her, watching every semblance of control leave her, feeling her writhe beneath his fingers, and finally releasing all inhibitions as her eyes, as blue as the surrounding flowers, faded into a sightless stare. The entire situation was rather… _poetic_ , if Arthur did say so himself.

The vampire had all but shattered her porcelain throat when the woods became suddenly restless – trembling as if a pack of stallions traversed them back and forth. Judging by the overwhelming stink, Arthur deduced that the beasts could not be stallions. The air was soiled with sweat and oak, very unlike the light, grassy aroma that usually followed horses. His nose wrinkled in distaste, but he dipped his head for another taste. He could not let a perfectly sublime neck go to waste because of a few unwanted visitors. The growth would conceal him and Renate well enough for the moment, and if worse came to worse he would gladly rip into whatever creature dared disrupt his meal. Said creature was roaming closer as it were, and eventually Arthur could taste what could only be described as _wet dog_ in the midst of his gorging. Revolting.

He sighed before smirking to himself, laying the cold corpse down in the grass before licking her blood imperiously off his long, pale fingers. The beast, a werewolf for certain, had tracked him down and had since hidden itself in the shrubbery behind him – fairly close, if the heat radiating off of its form was any indication. Arthur had to suppress the urge to lean into it; its blood had to have been _so warm_. And smelly and gross, but warm all the same. Still, the werewolf was nearing closer, too close for comfort, and Arthur was feeling sprightly. He would be putting his own life at risk, but some good exhilarating banter between a vampire and a werewolf would surely awaken his sleeping nerves. The hunt did tend to lull one into a stupor. "Yes, yes. I hear you, beast. I've finished my meal, so I suppose you can have the leftovers," he gestured freely over his shoulder, turning his back and making it appear as though he was walking away.

There was some slight shuffling behind him, and when he turned to glance over his shoulder the werewolf had already gathered Renate in his arms. He didn't look particularly pained. His eyes, which were also remarkably blue ( _like the heather_ , Arthur noted) did not grow wide with pain or soften with recognition. In fact, Arthur deduced that this werewolf was bereft of all sympathy for the poor girl. He may have been a bloodsucker, but at least he carried _some_ reservations when he killed. The man, nay, the _boy_ pressed two fingers to her shredded throat – searching for a pulse, perhaps? When he felt nothing he shrugged and lowered her back to the ground.

"Couldn't even wait till I left?" Arthur's mouth twitched into an eerie smile. An unpleasant smile. The wind howled around them and the tree branches retched and groaned above.

"Don't want your trash," the boy sniffed, staring disdainfully down at the girl's corpse. He blinked once, gaze traveling back up to meet Arthur's. Despite his attempt at appearing nonchalant, Arthur could almost see the fur prickling beneath his flesh – could almost feel the rippling of those hidden muscles. This _boy_ wanted to rip him apart, and he wouldn't deny that he wished to do the same in turn. It was their nature to be this way, to be natural enemies. Vampires and werewolves had been fighting for centuries. Although, it had been a long time since Arthur had tasted werewolf blood…with good reason, too. Werewolf blood was putrid.

"Werewolves really have no manners," Arthur sneered, shivering as the air grew even tenser, and yet it was also electric with energy. They were practically itching to fight. Alfred's nostrils flared and he grinned, lowering himself to the ground. It wasn't a friendly grin, Arthur noted.

"And vampires are cowards. Couldn't put in the effort to pick a more difficult target? Have to prey on little girls?" He shook his head back and forth as his neck became suddenly rigid, dark fur sprouting from his pores. The boy snarled then, his eyes glimmering in the night with unadulterated disgust. "I'll show you manners, bloodsucker!"

And he lunged.


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew prided himself on his stamina. Not in _that_ sense specifically, though he turned into something of a ruffian under full moons and to be fair not _all_ of that howling came out of him, and…moving on.

Matthew prided himself on his stamina, and his _patience_ because when you were the sibling of an overgrown pup like Alfred, God only knows how you managed to keep up with the tail-chaser through his numerous growth spurts, failed relationships, and what have you. Matthew swore Alfred's entire being consisted of seventy-five percent muscle mass and another twenty-five percent of _drama_. And despite Alfred's habit of parading around town as if he was some kind of wolf god (and almost getting the two of them caught one too many times), Mattie also knew his older brother was a very sensitive, romantic soul underneath all of that fur and forced bravado. It might have been admirable…had Alfred's dramatic flair not landed the two of them in their current predicament, combing the trees for Matthew's "lost liaison" Renate. That was Alfred's wording of course, not Matthew's.

Though it was generally unknown to Alfred, Matthew had a very healthy libido. Despite this, he had never laid a finger on Renate, let alone slept with her. She was too…well, too _not into him_ , and he had been perfectly okay with that. Matthew had always admired beauty, whether it be beauty in nature, in paintings, or in the face of a girl with skin like marble and crystalline eyes. He was fine admiring. After all, it was rumored that touching an angel would damn her to earth for all eternity, and if anyone in the village looked like an angel it was Renate. She wrote like one, too, and Matthew had memorized several of her poems.

His admiration of her did not go unnoticed by Alfred – who undoubtedly still carried the belief that Mattie was a naïve virgin. Matthew had been like that once, but then a friend had taken him out drinking – and, well, that was that. Rum did things to you. Still, when Renate had ever so bluntly _shunned_ Matthew's affections to Alfred's face, who had decided to take matters into his own hands, Alfred had not returned with enthusiasm. Afterwards, when Renate had approached _Matthew_ in the middle of the square and then proceeded to dismiss him in cold, but well-practiced poetic verse, Mattie actually had to restrain his brother from clawing her pretty little tongue out.

Matthew shivered as he approached the lake, framed by a coven of trees and illuminated by the moonlight. He kneeled to drink the cool water, drowsy from all the walking he had accomplished in Alfred's absence. The two of them had decided to take a walk earlier that night and even Alfred had kept the pace graciously steady before he caught a scent. Matthew had smelled it, too. It was the scent of a werewolf in heat. Alfred had stopped in his tracks and almost instantly opened his mouth – tasting the scent in the air. He had turned to Mattie with wide, lust-filled eyes, as if seeking his permission.

"Well, go ahead then. My heat was two weeks ago so I certainly don't want any of it," he had shrugged. Alfred shook his head in irritation, a low growl forming in his throat. Matthew stepped back warily; his brother's eyes had gone almost completely black with lust and…anger?

 _Oh no. Please don't be…_

"It isn't just anyone," Alfred had mumbled in irritation, swinging his head from side to side – dizzy with heat, "it's fucking Ivan."

 _Shit._

"I thought you ended things with him. Natalia won't be pleased if she finds out," he casually remarked, slightly annoyed that his brother was such a damn tramp. Alfred and Ivan's relationship was clearly toxic, built on insults and passionate sex. It might have been fun in the moment, but it always left Alfred in the worst of moods - and covered in Ivan's blood to boot. Although, Matthew could logically assume that Ivan left in a similar state.

"I did," Alfred replied, glancing away in shame. His face was beet red. "And I don't really care what Natalia thinks; she can join if she wants."

"You're such a pig," Matthew sighed. Usually he didn't approve of these spur-of-the-moment fucks; in fact, he openly disliked them. But then again, Alfred was so restless and he hadn't been with Ivan in months. Perhaps he needed to unwind. "Go ahead then," Matthew finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose. The resignation was evident in his voice, he knew, but Alfred would pay no notice. His brother was almost drooling all over himself.

Sure enough, Alfred quickly shifted and dashed off into the woods, the ground thundering underneath his paws as he barreled into the darkness and out of Matthew's line of sight.

"Damned mutt," Matthew chuckled, breathing in the cool air now that he was alone. The silence was peaceful, much more tolerable than Alfred's incessant whining; he loved his brother dearly, but the man was a pain in the ass most of the time. He couldn't fathom how he ended up being the _younger_ sibling; he was the mature one, after all. He shivered as a light breeze caught the back of his neck. The woods whispered around him, and he felt the urge to feel its life beneath his own paws. Matthew crouched low; the bristles of his russet fur sprouted through his flesh, running down his spine in red waves, until he was completely consumed by the warmth of his own pelt. His eyes flashed in the night as he shuffled in the opposite direction of his brother. Catching the scent of a doe, Matthew heard another low rumble (this time coming from his stomach) and prepared for his pursuit.

"Hope he doesn't find too much trouble," Matthew said to no one. He paused, watched the shadows dance in the distance, then turned and bounded down his own path.

* * *

The heat always wore Alfred out. No, his exhaustion had absolutely nothing to do with Ivan, nor did it have anything to do with the fact that they could never decide whether they wanted to fuck or fight each other. Usually they ended up doing both, and Alfred would return home limping (because of the fight, not because of the size of Ivan's – ahem), and then Papa would quietly mop the blood off of his 'baby boy' (his words, not Alfred's) and all would be well until Alfred got horny again.

But he had left that round satisfied, probably because they committed themselves to their heated rutting this time rather than biting and clawing the shit out of each other. He had a few scratches on him, but Ivan liked to leave marks; it had always been a kink for him. It was a badge of honor for Alfred; not many could stand Ivan, let alone fuck him.

Afterwards he had wandered around for a little bit, taking in the cool night air and letting his cuts breathe, before eventually circling back to the lake where he and Mattie had parted. He knew after smelling his brother's stale scent that he had been gone for awhile, probably either went off to hunt or simply went home without Alfred. Still, it felt as though it were getting darker and colder, and as the older sibling it was Alfred's job to try and find Mattie before taking off himself; their parents would kill him if he returned and Mattie still wasn't there.

So he combed the woods – for quite awhile, actually. If he were smarter, he might have turned back into a wolf; his sense of smell would have been sharper at the very least. But he was so tired, and being able to stand felt awesome after being bent over for a couple hours. It had gotten to the point where he considered just giving up and heading home when a new scent suddenly caught his attention. It was…strangely familiar. Upon creeping closer, Alfred realized it was the scent of Renate – the bitch who rejected his brother. He suppressed the growl that rose in his throat, pushing aside his anger in favor of his curiosity. Why on earth was flimsy little Renate wandering the woods alone?

 _She couldn't be with Mattie…could she?_

He couldn't smell his brother, but he _was_ in human form and still a bit of a distance away. The leaves crunched beneath his bare feet, and he flinched with every step he took. If his brother was getting laid, he didn't want to be the one to break up the party. A part of him really hoped his brother _wasn't_ getting laid; that was his little bro, after all. He wasn't ready for all the chicks. He didn't have the same skills as Alfred; he probably didn't even know what a boner was, for God's sake. Still, Alfred continued on with an economic mindset, ready to get down to the bottom of this strange occurrence. He still couldn't smell his brother, though. And sex was usually pretty loud, but Alfred could hardly hear a thing. In fact, the closer he got the more guarded he became. Something wasn't right.

He smelled the blood first; it was strong, too strong to be a shallow wound. If that was Renate's blood, she was most definitely dead. Then he heard it: hisses and sucks of pleasure, the sounds of something gorging itself. And finally, pushing some of the shrubbery away, Alfred saw it: the creature was on its knees, its long, lanky arms wrapped almost gently around Renate as it bit into her throat again and again. Alfred felt sick. He didn't like Renate at all; he wasn't even upset that she was dead, not really, but no one should have to see a sight like that.

The creature, a vampire obviously, dropped Renate's drained carcass and licked her blood off its fingers in slow, disgusting motions. Alfred wasn't stupid; he knew the vampire knew he was there. The damned monster was showing off, and Alfred wanted to rip its fucking throat out. Even so, as the vampire stood and left the body behind, Alfred crept forward and gathered the dead woman in his arms. She might have been a bitch, but Matthew loved her; he would be devastated to hear the news of her death.

"Yes, yes. I hear you, beast. I've finished my meal, so I suppose you can have the leftovers," the vampire said, tossing his hand over his shoulder in a casual wave. What a fucking prick. Alfred pressed two fingers to her throat, though he already knew it was pointless. Renate was long gone. He shrugged, if only to appear as nonchalant as the damn bloodsucker, and lowered her back to the ground.

"Couldn't even wait till I left?"

The vampire was smiling. At least, Alfred thought it was a smile. Its eyes glowed a fierce green, and its fangs gleamed in the moonlight. It was a terrifying creature, but Alfred had seen vampires before. Their kinds were natural enemies. He refused to cower beneath this one, refused to give it the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He could be pretty frightening himself under the right conditions.

"Don't want your trash," Alfred sniffed, looking once more at Renate before meeting the vampire's eyes in defiance.

"Werewolves really have no manners," it sneered. Alfred felt waves of unrest ripple through him, almost like when he was in heat. Except this time there would be fighting, and lots of it he imagined. His mouth stretched open in a savage grin, almost a snarl, and he huddled closer to the ground as he spoke again.

"And vampires are cowards. Couldn't put in the effort to pick a more difficult target? Have to prey on little girls?" he snapped at the creature above him. Its eyes flashed menacingly, so strikingly green - almost like emeralds. They would have been nice to look at if Alfred weren't so pissed off, but he imagined that the vampire had all sorts of methods of seduction, ways to get him to let his guard down. They wouldn't work. He swore to himself that he would taste this vampire's blood if it was the last thing he did. "I'll show you manners, bloodsucker!" he snarled, and all at once the beast tore its way out of him.

The vampire was quick, instantly maneuvering out of Alfred's path as he lunged for it. He felt long nails dig into his sides before he even had the chance to turn around, and realized with a start that the damn thing had jumped on his back.

 _Bad move_ , he laughed internally, bucking the vampire off him.

It rolled away, scrabbling to its knees as Alfred charged toward it with all the power and fury of an angry bull. His nostrils flared and he bared his teeth as the two clashed once more, slamming into each other and clawing at each other like rabid animals. Alfred's jaws were snapping wildly at the vampire's face, saliva flying everywhere. The vampire flinched, but held steady as he kept the crazed werewolf just barely at bay. His hands were positioned around Alfred's neck, pushing with enough force to keep the beast balanced above him. Yet Alfred persisted, his paws hanging in mid-air and swinging wildly back and forth, claws yearning to tear into the vampire's perfectly pale skin. He clamped his jaws shut and re-opened them over and over again, snarling and howling and altogether desperate to have a good kill.

Unfortunately for him the vampire was strong, so strong in fact that it nearly catapulted him into a fucking tree. It was his turn to roll around in the dirt, slamming into a tree-trunk with a heavy _oof_. He unintentionally shifted back upon making contact with the tree, falling to his knees and struggling to catch his breath. That blow had knocked him silly, left him winded and vulnerable; he hated being winded and vulnerable. Still panting, he managed to look up at his opponent: the vampire was slinking towards him, a terrifying grin on its face.

"Poor puppy," it cooed mockingly, lifting a hand as if to strike Alfred. He saw the light shine off the creature's nails – nails which were undoubtedly prepared to rip him open from tail to top. Like hell he was going down that easy. As soon as the vampire came within striking distance, Alfred shot up with his right fist and decked the vampire right in his pretty face. Maybe that would teach him not to corner a werewolf.

The vampire yelped in pain and shuffled away, cradling its jaw tenderly. Alfred saw those fierce green eyes flash in pain, but he was left breathless when he saw the _talons_ stuck in the vampire's jaw. He knew vampires had pretty large fangs. Most beasts had fangs. Hell, _Matthew_ had some pretty nasty fangs; Alfred had caught the edge of one or two of them when they were young and liked to tick each other off. That shit hurt, without a doubt.

But Matthew's fangs were nothing compared to these whoppers: long and almost hooked, they glistened with spots of Renate's blood. Alfred swallowed. He'd made a serious error, and now he didn't even have the balls to shift back. Those fangs had him frozen. Those fangs would be _inside him,_ draining the life from him. He could feel every nerve trembling.

"That," the vampire said smoothly (as if he hadn't just been socked in the jaw), "was a very bad move, dog." He shifted his jaw back in place with an audible _pop_ , and then began to slowly make his was toward Alfred again.

Alfred was still frozen, and he almost considered making his peace with the world right then and there. Death was almost a given at this point. He could try to fight back, but he wasn't sure how much fight was left in him. He was being uncharacteristically timid about this whole situation, as if someone had reached inside his head and flipped the 'chicken-shit' switch. What the hell was wrong with him?

 _Green eyes. Green eyes staring. Obey. Obey. Prey…_

And then, as if by magic, all the fear consuming him shattered into pieces. There was a thundering in the distance; he could hear it plain as day. Alfred sniffed the air and smiled victoriously.

 _It's Matthew!_

The vampire was staring off into the distance now, looking in the direction of Matthew's urgent running. He knew what was coming.

"I'll admit it: you almost took me down, buddy. But can you handle _two_ werewolves?" Alfred smirked, cocking an eyebrow smugly.

The vampire looked back at him, fiddling with his hands as if deciding if he should take off running, or tear Alfred's tongue out and _then_ take off running. His eye twitched irritably as he looked back and forth between Alfred and his impending demise. The guy must have known he couldn't possibly face two werewolves and survive. Finally, sighing with clear disappointment, Arthur turned back to Alfred. His eyes flashed in warning, and he said as calmly and coolly as he could manage, "We'll finish this another day, mutt. I won't forget you so easily."

And then he was gone. Alfred had only blinked, but the vampire had flashed out of existence with the fluidity of a shadow. Alfred released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, smiling gratefully up at Matthew as the wolf finally made it to the clearing. Mattie's ears were pointed forward aggressively, his tail standing on end. Alfred noticed that the little bristles of fur along his back were spiked as well. He sniffed at the air, circling Alfred and the tree until he was satisfied that the threat had left. Then he leapt in front of Alfred, nearly scaring his brother to death for the second time that day, and clutched at his shoulders as he shifted.

"What the hell happened, Alfred?!" Mattie cried, shaking Alfred's shoulders forcibly.

"I got into trouble," Alfred smiled sheepishly. His eyes shifted away in embarrassment as he recalled those brief moments of cowardice. What had happened to him? One moment he was fine, and the next he was trembling on the ground like a newborn pup. He'd heard stories of vampires being able to control their victims; maybe his opponent had done the same. Regardless, he'd have to be more cautious the next time he saw that damn bloodsucker. It was lucky his brother had been looking for him, otherwise who knows what could have happened. He shuddered.

Embarrassment ebbing, Alfred opened his mouth to thank Mattie for keep tabs on him (even though he _obviously_ had it covered), but quickly snapped it shut after hearing his brother's pitiful whimper. His face fell when he realized that Mattie had moved away from him. He was looking at the body that lay in the center of the clearing. Oh right, _Renate._

Matthew blinked rapidly as he gazed down at the woman's cold form, taking a dainty hand gently in his and holding it up to his cheek. The breaths rattled in his chest as he tried to control his emotions, but the tears began to flow on their own accord. Alfred looked at his feet as he lumbered over to Matthew. He sighed, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.

"I'm – I'm sorry, bro," he whispered, "I know how much you liked her."

"And I know how much you _didn't_ ," Matthew laughed bitterly, choking back a sob. "Did she feel any pain?"

"I…I'm not sure, Matt," Alfred replied honestly, removing his hand. "But I'm gonna find the thing that did this to her. I swear. And after that…" he trailed off. There was only so much comfort he could provide. After all, Matt was right: he hated Renate.

Matthew nodded, taking a deep breath. He squeezed Renate's hand and laid it back at her side, then lifted his hand to stroke the delicate curve of her cheek before forcing himself to his feet. Alfred stared off into the wilderness, unable to meet his brother's eyes. He didn't really get it, to be honest. He didn't think Renate was worth crying over. But then again, Mattie had been in love with her. He told himself that if he were to ever love someone like that, he'd probably be in just as much pain.

"She could write like an angel," Matthew whispered, sniffling. Alfred nodded. "Help me carry her back?" Matthew asked suddenly, clutching at Alfred's arm. Alfred forced himself to look his brother in the eyes, devastated to see wet trails running down his cheeks. He hated seeing Mattie upset. Still, he was the older brother – the _protector_. He'd do what needed to be done…for Mattie's sake.

"Of course," he rasped.

The two made their way slowly back to town, Alfred carrying Renate and Matthew following, still devoted as ever. It took six washes to strip her blood from their clothes.

* * *

"…and I ask that the good Lord might do me a kindness in letting me join him, so that I would rest by his side in the kingdom of heaven like the rest of you good folk! I humbly ask that you pray for me," the poor wench continued, blubbering incessantly on the scaffold. Arthur sighed deeply, his face hidden under the hood of his cloak. It was much too sunny for him to be outside, but once he had overheard the news that there was to be an execution, he could hardly stay away. While several species would never make peace, just like him and that blasted werewolf he fought the previous night, he supposed that they were all sisters in death. The woman standing above them, asking for their mercy, was a witch who had come only a few months back to set-up shop. She was middle-aged, her hair graying (though she must have had access to youth potions), and her hands were spotted and wrinkled despite being no older than forty or so – a side-effect of using dark magic.

Arthur had visited her once a month or two back, just to check out her wares, and found her to be overall kindly and absent-minded. The poor thing.

"Jesus Christ receive my soul. Oh Lord God have pity on my soul…" she mumbled in a panic as the executioner placed the noose around her neck. "Jesus Christ receive my –" _SNAP._

Arthur didn't look away when she finally fell. He stared up at her, her skirt billowing in the breeze, her body rocking back and forth – finally at peace, he hoped. He whispered a prayer for her, for all of them, and then shuffled away without making a sound.

The rain fell hard upon Kirkland Manor that night, but Arthur thought it gave his estate a certain _aesthetic_. Few people in the village actually knew who he was; they'd heard, of course, of the wealthy lord Arthur Kirkland who spent his days cooped up in his cozy little castle with no friends or family. That isn't to say he was completely invisible, however. Renate had known him quite well – he used to slaughter animals and sell them to her father when he was younger and impoverished. The manor he would come to call his home had been there for centuries apparently, wealthy newcomers moving in and out like worms in an apple core. The last resident, a tired old man who was dying of the white plague, had planned to pass the manor on to his grandchildren back in England. Arthur had broken into his bedchamber one chilly night in February and had put him out of his misery as painlessly as possible. He emptied the man's chests and coffers and tore up his will. The grandchildren never sent so much as a letter claiming their inheritance. Arthur didn't expect to hear from them at all, to be frank.

Kirkland Manor proved to be the perfect home for Arthur, despite the recent executions of his kind in the town square. He knew it would be smart of him to pack up and leave, but Arthur had already proven his talent for out-witting the mortals several times in the past. Besides, the estate was well-guarded by walls of stone and a nearly impenetrable brush of trees and thorns. And the townsfolk, oddly enough, were not as curious as one might imagine; most just left Arthur to his own devices, figuring him to be a lonely bachelor (or perhaps even a widower). The rumor-mill produced all sorts of tripe, but he was used to it.

And so the rain pattered its usual _lonely_ patter on the stain-glass windows, original to the building he had heard, and Arthur sat in his favorite chair in front of the fireplace whilst sipping his tea like a true gentleman. He may have been a vampire, but he was also a gentleman (a persona he had always aspired to), and gentlemen drank tea. It was pure fact.

As the night grew longer, Arthur wished more and more that he could sleep. He was well-studied, well-learned, and self-taught in several arts that ranged from music to science and beyond. When you were constantly awake twenty-four hours a day for the rest of eternity, it became imperative to find _something_ to do. Learning had always been Arthur's favorite way to occupy his time, but he was becoming bored with how intelligent he was. Some company might be nice, someone to talk to in the wee hours of the morn, but he couldn't imagine that anyone below would truly enjoy his company. He had been told in the past that he was somewhat of a stickler anyhow.

He sighed and sank into his chair (looking undignified, he was sure). He was prepared to close his eyes and lose himself in his thoughts for a few hours, but was suddenly startled to hear a repetitive rapping-sound coming from the main hall. Surely someone wasn't knocking on his door. Who in the hell would visit at this time of night?

Arthur straightened his collar and immediately fixed his expression into a courtly one, making haste for the door. The rapping continued, and Arthur withheld the urge to chide the visitor for their impatience. When he finally opened the door, however, he was shocked to see a lady standing there before him – dripping wet and holding a wool blanket around her shoulders. Her expression was masked with determination, but Arthur could see fear in her eyes (a softer green than his own). She was clearly stressed; her chestnut hair frizzed out at the edges and was tied into a messy-bun. Overall, Arthur deduced that she had put very little effort into her appearance before coming to see him, meaning she was in a hurry. How interesting.

"Elizabeta," he greeted politely. "This is unusual for you."

"Believe me, I didn't want to have to crawl up here looking like this either, eyebrows," Elizabeta snapped, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. Arthur noticed that she was shivering, and quickly stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

"So why come?" he asked indifferently, closing the door as his guest made herself at home. She made a quick dash for the sitting room and he sighed irritably before following her. "Could this not have waited for the morning? I could have just come down to your shop," he huffed, watching her sit cross-legged on the floor. How lady-like.

"No, it can't wait." She stretched her hands out, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace.

"Could you at least sit like a lady?" he snapped. "You're wearing a dress, for God's sake."

"Bite me, eyebrows," she mumbled, taking off her shoes and warming her feet.

Arthur's eyebrow twitched and he felt a migraine coming on, but he simply sighed (making his annoyance as obvious as humanly possible) and retreated back to his chair.

"Fine," he snapped, rubbing the groove between his eyebrows (which were not _that_ large, honestly). "Why are you here? What news have you?"

"I'm here to warn you," Elizabeta said, twisting her torso to look back at him. Her eyes were strangely earnest. "I-I may have," her eyelids fluttered and she sighed, "I may have gotten you into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Arthur asked, clutching the arms of his chair.

"A man – a blonde man with a French accent – came to my shop this afternoon. He introduced himself as Francis Bonnefoy; he said he was looking for olive oil for a… _special occasion._ " She wrinkled her nose in disgust, shaking her head. She looked almost amused, however. "I told him I had some and went to the back to fetch it, but when I came back he was looking through my log book. He saw that you purchase golden serpent fern from me. He saw all of the times you've bought it in the last six months."

"So?" Arthur asked, not quite sure what Elizabeta was getting at.

" _So_ ," she snapped, though her eyes were more concerned than irritated, "golden dragon fern can only be found in the far south. It doesn't grow up here, but I've always kept it regularly stocked for you – and _you_ are the only one who buys it. Christ Arthur, put the pieces together!"

Arthur was an intelligent man, so it didn't take him long to figure out was Elizabeta was implying. After all, he bought the golden dragon fern because it offered protection from the sun. He often drank it in his tea. No one else bought it because Elizabeta had always kept it specially for him – because of his vampirism. Oh God.

"Elizabeta," he whispered urgently, "does this man know that I'm a vampire?"

She looked away from him, staring at the fire. She didn't need to say anything to confirm his suspicions. Her silence said it all.

"Elizabeta," he said again, this time louder and more desperate. "What does he plan to do with this information?"

"I – I don't know," she whispered. "But…" she trailed off, taking a deep breath, "he told me that he's a vampire hunter. Not just a vampire hunter, an _everything_ hunter. He told me he was a member of a group of witch hunters back in France. They're called the…the _Enfants du Soleil_."

 _Children of the sun,_ Arthur mouthed. He felt the cold rush of panic seep into his veins. He couldn't stay here for much longer, but he had spent years establishing the perfect life for himself here. He had everything he needed here. He didn't want to leave. What's more, he didn't want to be chased from his home by some bastard Frenchman. He was terrified, honestly, but he needed to find some way to out-smart this _Francis_. He was good at out-smarting people.

"Did he say anything else?" Arthur asked, drumming his fingers against his chair in an effort to keep calm.

Elizabeta's brow furrowed, her expression shifting into one of pure disgust.

"He told me that my secret was safe with him. He said that if I were a _good little witch_ , I'd keep this between us until the next time he saw me. Fucking bastard."

"Then neither of us are safe," Arthur stared coldly into the fire, watching the wood burn, imagining himself and Elizabeta both tied to stakes. Morbid as it may be, it could be a reality if they didn't take action. "What should we do?"

"I don't trust him not to give away my secret. If he tells the town that I'm a witch, then I could suffer the same fate as that woman earlier today." Arthur nodded, watching her. She was curled into herself on the floor, her head bowed; he guessed she was deep in thought.

"We should tell Yao," Arthur said suddenly, remembering the other wizard who lived off the edge of the town. "You always trade with him. If this man saw your log book, then he'll know who your constituents are."

"He's already fled," she shrugged, still curled into herself. She was fiddling with a loose strand of hair, pulling apart the split ends or something. Her fingers were trembling. "I visited him before I came here."

"I see," he said, staring down at his own hands. They clutched the arms of his chair so tightly that the wood had begun to splinter. He was also trembling. "Well," he sighed, trying to make his voice sound as even as possible, "I suppose you will flee as well?"

"I guess I have no choice," she said bitterly. "I don't want to die, Arthur."

"No man wants to die," he agreed, staring into the shadows. The fire was too bright for him now, too hot. He could hardly stand to look at it.

"And what of you?" she asked, her voice trembling. He may have imagined it, but Arthur thought he could see tears brimming in her eyes. "Will you follow me?"

"No," he answered remorsefully. He had made up his mind only moments ago that he would not run away. He'd already tried to elude death earlier, had run away from a team of werewolves when he'd only wanted to fight. If Francis Bonnefoy wanted to see him hang, he'd have to drag him to the scaffold. Elizabeta clutched at her dress, almost ripping it because her hands were shaking so erratically. She suppressed a sob, biting her lip and lifting her head to look at Arthur. He looked back. Elizabeta smiled a watery smile and rose to her feet, sticking her hand out in a gesture of good faith.

"Then, I suppose there is nothing more for me to say. I depart tonight."

Arthur stood as well. He took her hand and kissed it lightly, smiling grimly at the woman he'd learned to see as a friend.

"Take care of yourself, Elizabeta. I hope we meet again."

"And I, as well Arthur Kirkland."

They shared another polite smile, and then Elizabeta fixed her blanket so that it covered her face – almost like a cloak. Arthur followed her to the door, opening it for her and watching her step back out into the pouring rain. She paused for a second, looking back to where he stood – watching her.

"See ya, eyebrows." For once, the nickname didn't bother him.

"Godspeed, witch," he replied, watching sadly as she winked at him before hurrying away into the night.

He put out the fire after retreating back inside, sitting alone in the dark, meditating on everything Elizabeta had said to him. If he wanted to defeat this new enemy, he would have to find the opportunity to _know_ him. Bonnefoy would surely come looking for him after he was done with…whatever he was currently using that olive oil for. Perverted wanker.

Arthur sank into his chair, as he often did when he wanted to lose himself in thought. How would a French bastard stalk his prey? Probably in the open, Arthur imagined, in front of an audience. The French had always been ostentatious, and no doubt Bonnefoy would want the town to see him as a hero – the man who saved the village from the evil Lord Kirkland. The hunter would want a crowd, something glamorous and flirtatious – just like him.

Arthur smiled in euphoria. If the Frenchman wanted to have a good time, Arthur could show him a good time. _In the comfort of his own home._

"It's time for me to be a proper host," he mused to himself, "and nothing pleases the cutpurses and the dregs of humankind more than…a _celebration_."

Hey, a little party never killed nobody.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I worked really hard on it. Also, in case it isn't clear: while there are a ton of characters in this thing, the focus will be on Arthur and Alfred. Just keep that in mind! We get to attend a party in the next chapter, so I hope you stick around!


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_

 _Warnings for very, very brief mentions of self-harm and seriously mediocre sex. I'm sorry. -_-_

* * *

"I wonder who all's gonna show," Alfred said, adjusting his jacket. Black velvet was too classy for his blood, but Papa had wanted him to wear it – said it made him look like a gentleman. And Alfred wasn't about to let his Papa down. He'd never hear the end of it if he wore his regular garb, caked in dirt and blood from his everyday excursions. Matthew patted him once on the back, his hand giving just enough pressure to nudge Alfred along. He'd gone all out, dressed in velvet from head to toe with silk embroidery and a silly-looking hat to match. But Matthew (though he appeared meek and shy) actually enjoyed large social gatherings; he appreciated the opportunity to look nice and rub elbows with some of the finer folk, and the finer _food_.

"Probably the whole town," Matthew replied as they approached the main gate to Kirkland Manor. Buggies had already begun pulling up, and while the initial walk had been peaceful, sparse of any crowds, the main gate was practically conquered by the masses. "I wonder if we'll actually see Lord Kirkland," he added thoughtfully.

"That'd be pretty lame if he didn't show up to his own party," Alfred answered. "But yeah, I'm curious to see what he looks like. I've always imagined him as some old and fat dude with pretty girls hanging off of him."

"Why?" Matthew choked on a laugh. Alfred shrugged, grinning mischievously.

"Because he's freaking rich, dude," he said excitedly, opening his arms wide as they caught a view of that enormous castle sitting atop the hill. They'd seen Kirkland Manor before, just passing by, but never like this: the whole building was absolutely flooded with light despite it being pitch black outside. It poured out of the grand windows, some beautifully crafted stain-glass, and spilled over the hill and through the trees to the village below. It was like some kind of beacon of grandeur, and while Alfred didn't care so much for formality and the like, he had to admit that he was impressed – and maybe just a _little_ excited to see what awaited them inside.

There were no guards present, strangely enough; both boys assumed the place would be tight with security. After all, an old man like Kirkland would surely need someone to protect his wealth while he mingled with his guests. And with all the _threats_ currently residing among the people, threats like Alfred and Matthew, even the common-folk were pinching pennies for later. Soon there would be hitmen and witch hunters walking all over the place. It was safe to say that the boys had already begun planning an exit strategy should that happen, or at least a better way to hide themselves and their loved ones. They'd intended to have just a little bit of fun tonight, something to ease the tension before they'd really start cracking down on their own security. There was bloodshed on the horizon, they knew. And yet, as they finally marched up the steps of Kirkland Manor and into the main foyer, all they could see was light and laughter.

Though there had been no security, there were men at the door, dressed in all black, taking coats and welcoming people inside. There were other men with trays of food and cups of wine scattered among the crowds, handing out refreshments and hastily making their way in and out of a large set of hand-carved double doors (probably the kitchens). There were musicians in the farthest corner, so close to the food that Alfred saw one of the reach out and pluck a turkey leg for himself. And oh, the spread looked amazing on that table. Both boys agreed that their stomachs were far too empty; and if either of them wanted to drink and keep it down, getting food first was a necessity. They approached it slowly, almost warily; they really had no choice, seeing as it was currently blocked by various clumps of chatty guests. They managed to push their way through, and Matthew almost cried at the culinary masterpieces set-out before him. For starters, there were so many roasted birds that Alfred felt a little lost. He liked all kinds of bird meat, but making him pick between chicken, pheasant, turkey, and...was that freaking _swan?_...was just cruel. And there were other assortments of meat, too: sausage, rib, something that smelled a little fishy…It was phenomenal! There were soups and breads further down, and Matthew appreciated the variety; it was nice to have something a bit lighter to ease his palate into the heavier items. And some of the bread was glazed with butter and glistened deliciously, and Lord – Matthew couldn't remember the last time he'd even _had_ butter on bread.

Alfred, of course, had immediately started digging in. Already _way_ past appreciating little things like butter, he gorged himself as if he had been starved for years. Matthew rolled his eyes, but plucked a biscuit off its tray and munched on it happily, watching the party in full-swing. Some of the gowns these ladies were wearing were…rather extravagant. Lord Kirkland must have invited people from other towns as well, because there was no way any of the common-folk could afford dresses like those. Taking a moment to appreciate the décor of the place, Matthew also noticed just how _old_ the building was. Though it was mostly well-maintained, with crystal chandeliers and neatly-polished cherry wood floors, the structure itself was clearly suffering from old age. The stonework was chipped in some places, the doors creaked loudly, and the silver candelabras were tarnished. Matthew knew, of course, that the castle had been there for some time – since before he and Alfred were born – but he couldn't recall it being called _Kirkland Manor_ in the early days of his childhood. In fact, he couldn't recall hearing about Lord Kirkland at all until he was about thirteen or so. It was strange that a newcomer would spend so much time cooped up in a castle, that evidently _was not_ passed down by his family, only to throw a massive party years later after living in solitude for so long. I mean, he couldn't have known very many people in the town. Matthew certainly didn't know him, and Matthew's family was typically "in the know".

 _Perhaps that's the purpose of this party_ , Matthew thought, smiling at a small cluster of women who were making eyes at him and Alfred. _Perhaps Lord Kirkland is just lonely._

"Our host has certainly spared no expense, non?" a voice said to Matthew's right, freeing him from his thoughts. Matthew turned to the man hesitantly, uncertain if he was the one being spoken to. The man was obviously French: his accent made that clear enough. His hair, which looked as regal as a stallion's mane, was a much lighter blonde than either Matthew or Alfred's hair and reminded Matthew of dandelions. It was tied back with a blue ribbon that matched the blue and white pinstripes on the man's jacket. There was a sword tucked in his belt, a consequence of the lack of security, but somehow the young werewolf couldn't imagine this man using it in such civilized company. It reflected the candles on the table, clean and shiny – rarely used. Matthew quickly surmised that this man, beautiful and proud, was a man of fine taste with a quick tongue, thus why he hardly used his sword; it was simply there as a warning, a show of masculinity.

Realizing that he was being rude, however, Matthew blushed and looked away quickly. His tongue felt like cotton.

"He certainly hasn't," Matthew agreed, clearing his throat. "I've yet to meet him."  
"Lord Kirkland? Yes, I have also been searching, though I fear meeting him is unlikely. Pity," the man sighed, and Matthew swore he tapped the handle of his sword, just barely. Yet he also felt like an ass for scrutinizing this man so closely, and forced himself to ignore it.

"Well, I suppose we've been granted good company anyhow," he smiled kindly, offering his hand to the Frenchman. "My name's Matthew."

To his surprise, and slight amusement, the man actually blushed at Matthew's comment. Okay, it was pretty funny – especially considering Matthew was usually the nervous one. If he could meet this man on equal ground, the night would prove to be even more enjoyable.

"Francis Bonnefoy," the Frenchman answered, bowing garishly. "A pleasure, mon cher," he winked, which sent Matthew into fits of sputtering. So much for meeting the man on "equal ground".

"I beg your pardon?" he blanched, feeling a fit of embarrassment coming on. Who was this man to call him "my dear"?

"My apologies," Francis said, waving a hand frantically. "Sometimes I forget myself. But I assure you, I greet everyone with _mon cher_."

"Everyone huh?" Matthew mumbled, coming down from his fit. He didn't understand why his mood was changing so rapidly around this… _flamboyant Frenchman_ …but he couldn't help the feelings of disappointment that washed over him, knowing that Francis acknowledged everyone like that. The man was clearly a flirt. He probably had a dozen women chasing after him at the very least. He was the type of man Renate had typically fawned over; she hadn't cared for soft-spoken men like Matthew.

"Is something wrong, mon cher?" the man asked, blue eyes staring at Matthew in concern – _feigned_ concern, Matthew reminded himself.

"No," Matthew said quickly, staring just below the man's eyes, "but please don't call me that." He expected Francis would be offended, or that he'd made the situation awkward by getting so flustered, but Francis only looked abashed and regretful. He smiled warmly at Matthew.

"Of course, Matthew. Allow me to apologize again-,"

"Hey! 'Sup little bro?" Alfred exclaimed suddenly, pushing his way between Matthew and Francis. He had _two_ turkey legs, one in either hand, and some kind of pastry balanced on top of his head, held in place by his cowlick. Matthew felt disoriented, having had forgotten all about Alfred. "Who's this?" He shot Francis a guarded look, eyes flashing quickly over the weapon at his side, so quickly that Francis couldn't have possibly noticed.

"Francis Bonnefoy," Francis greeted, nodding curtly at Alfred. "Witch hunter."

"Witch hunter?" Alfred asked, pretending to be intrigued. Matthew noticed his shoulders tense. "Well," Alfred smiled wryly, "this town's glad to have ya. Damn bloodsuckers have been giving us trouble."

"So I've heard. In fact, I plan to catch one tonight," Francis smiled, though Matthew noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. He was initially concerned that Francis could tell what they were, but his eyes seemed to stare right through them. They burned with violence – eagerness, too.

"Oh?" Alfred asked, sounding legitimately surprised. His shoulders were still tense, and Matthew guessed that he, too, thought their identities were compromised. "And who might that be?"

"That would be telling, non?" Francis laughed. His voice sounded so hollow now; it saddened Matthew.

"Gentlemen," a female voice interrupted. All three turned to look as she lurked closer to them, dancing along the edge of their group and another, looking completely bored as if she was trying to decide which people to speak to, but wouldn't have cared regardless. She ended up floating into their tense little circle, planting herself in the midst of their discussion like a wild rose.

 _A wild rose,_ Matthew thought to himself. _That's a perfect description for her._

The woman was wearing a gown that screamed "my daddy has money" and appeared to be crafted out of red silk and black lace; it hugged her curves in all the right ways, accenting her hips as opposed to her below-average bust. Her hands were covered with black satin gloves, and her fingers were topped with gold bands and rubies. She must have had an obsession with red, because her lips were painted the same shade as her dress. Her eyes, so dark they were almost black, looked like cat eyes; they lingered for a few seconds on each man: first Matthew, then Alfred, and finally Francis. She seemed to enjoy staring at Francis the most, because another ten seconds passed before her eyes finally flickered away from him. Her lips quirked into a smirk.

"You look like an interesting bunch," she said, adjusting one of her rings. "Two poor men and a witch hunter."

"An _everything_ hunter," Francis corrected. His eyes were completely fixed on her, and not her bosom either as Matthew might have guessed. Their gazes locked almost immediately. "Including a hunter of fine women," he said. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but held her hand out to him regardless. Francis took it and kissed it, refusing to let go as he added it, "such as yourself, mon cher."

Matthew looked away. Stupid nickname.

Alfred, however, seemed completely unphased by this woman. His brother was such a hound for the girls (and the boys), Matthew figured he'd leap at the chance to make conversation. But after turning to catch Alfred's gaze, and perhaps to see if he also thought Francis's flirting was highly inappropriate, Matthew thought it curious that Alfred's attention was otherwise occupied. He was staring at someone, though Matthew couldn't exactly tell who. There were several people standing where Alfred was looking. Although, they all seemed quite entranced with one figure in particular: a man with a scruffy-looking ponytail standing in the center. His robes were all black, like many of the servants, and yet it was extremely apparent that this man was no servant. His skin was pale, almost like parchment, and looked just as delicate, too. His posture was proud but reserved; this was a civilized man, but a highly-introverted one. Matthew was baffled; why would that man inspire such intrigue? Especially from _Alfred?_ He didn't get a chance to ask.

"Excuse me," Alfred muttered quickly, shoving people out of the way. Several of them squawked in protest, though Francis and his new crush remained permanently fixated on each other. They hadn't even noticed Alfred's departure, too engaged in whispering to one another. Matthew almost felt left out, but he reminded himself that he could always just leave them. He was disappointed; despite Francis's obvious flaws, the man was intriguing to Matthew. He would have liked to speak more with him. He shrugged, offering a half-hearted farewell (though neither Francis nor the woman turned to acknowledge him).

Matthew's eyes drifted back toward the man with the scruffy blonde hair. Upon walking closer, he could also tell that this man had some _serious_ eyebrows, but like hell he would comment on them in civilized discussion. He certainly hoped Alfred wouldn't either. However, Matthew was startled to discover that Alfred had disappeared. He wasn't anywhere near the man, nor was he among any of the people surrounding him. Matthew huffed in exasperation. He'd come to this party to have fun, but was instead forced to chase around and babysit his older sibling. How wonderful.

* * *

Alfred knew he was looking for trouble, but he didn't exactly give a damn. His heart was racing a mile per minute, and he was sweating profusely. He thought he'd be safe coming to this party, thought he and his brother could relax and forget about everything that had happened that night. It had already taken a toll on them. Mattie was having nightmares. Alfred was still itching to tear that bloodsucker's throat out. And of course it followed them here, because that was just his luck. His stupid, stupid luck. He'd seen that same vampire standing there, standing so innocently there as if it wasn't a monster among prey. Hell, it was probably keeping tabs on every person surrounding it, waiting for the right time to sink its horrible fangs into their back.

He…he really shouldn't have left Mattie behind. The witch hunter might have had a sword, but he was still a witch hunter. And now a vampire, the same vampire that threatened Alfred earlier, the same vampire that killed Matthew's love, was within striking distance of both of them. He'd left his brother with a hunter and a vampire, but there was something he needed to know before he returned to Matthew's aid (whether he knew he needed it or not). Alfred wasn't stupid, though some people would argue otherwise. He was actually pretty clever – good at putting the pieces together. Good at figuring things out. And _oh_ , he had just had the most insane epiphany of all time.

The vampire wore the clothing of an aristocrat, too fancy for someone without a home. Too fancy for someone who wasn't wealthy. That meant the vampire had a home, more than likely somewhere in town because he hunted in the nearby forest. If he lived in town, he'd have to stay hidden for most of his life; Alfred assumed he was allergic to sunlight. That's what his parents had always told him: vampires were allergic to sunlight. He supposed this vampire could be different, but he was still basing his case off assumptions. That must have been why Alfred had never seen the vampire before today – he spent his life in hiding. Alfred rarely hunted at night because most packs preferred to hunt during that time, and Alfred had always avoided packs like the plague – too stiff for his liking.

And it certainly couldn't have been a coincidence that the only other person in town he had never seen, Lord Arthur Kirkland, was the one throwing this little soirée. And the vampire, whom Alfred had only seen once, just _happened_ to show up to this thing? Alfred wasn't playing games anymore; he wanted to see that vampire _burn_. He couldn't do it in front of everyone, though. Not without revealing what he truly was. It would have to be done more…diplomatically. With hard-core evidence.

And such is why Alfred, leaving his brother temporarily in danger, had snuck away to find Lord Kirkland's private quarters. There had to be something in there he could use, some sort of proof…

Unfortunately it was rather dark in the other parts of the manor. Lord Kirkland must have told the servants to stay out of the halls. Maybe he was just a private man, or _maybe_ there was something he didn't want them to see. Alfred shrunk away from the creepy old paintings that covered the walls, showing people that were obviously of no relation to that vampire. But the previous owner of this place had gone missing if the rumors were true, so that would only make sense if his theory ended up being right; Arthur must have killed the previous owner to get this place.

Alfred was scurrying down each hall like a man on a mission, and at one point even hit a staircase. He decided to go up, figuring that Lord Kirkland would prefer one of the more private sectors (even if he did live here alone, the weirdo). There were too many doors in this place, though. Alfred opened several of them along the way only to find empty rooms or the occasional library. The man sure loved his books. It surprised Alfred how barren this castle actually was; it had always appeared so grand on the outside, but was little more than an abandoned fox-den on the inside: cold and hollow. This made his job a little easier, unless of course _every_ room was either empty or filled with books. He really hoped he wouldn't reach the end of his search only to find nothing; for all he knew, Lord Kirkland didn't even _have_ a bedroom. Vampires didn't sleep, did they?

He was about to give up hope and turn back before he was caught, despite only hearing the lonely echoes of his footsteps. You couldn't be too careful when dealing with vampires, after all. Or angry old men if he happened to be wrong (which _totally_ wasn't the case). But finally, after a few extra minutes of his desperate searching, Alfred came across a set of double-doors. They appeared very worn, old and chipping and covered in scratches. Alfred shivered, remembering the vampire's claws and fangs. He must have made these marks – probably on his bad days, or something. If this wasn't the right place, Alfred didn't know where else to look.

He took a deep breath before trying to open the door. And even afterwards, he made sure to approach with caution. If this truly was the vampire's lair, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. He held his breath as the silver handle clicked under his fingers. To Alfred, it was the loudest click in the world. He'd need to hurry. He pushed very slowly, anxiously awaiting the _creak_ that would surely follow.

 _CrreAAAkkkkkKKkk._

Alfred could have died right there. He'd been expecting that, but now he was almost certain he'd be caught. Cards on the table: he didn't know much about vampires, but he was just going to assume that they had _very_ good hearing.

Lucky for him, the gap was wide enough for him to squeeze through without causing much more of a ruckus. He braced his hands against the frame, sucking in his gut (err, muscles) until he was thin enough to brush past. He only released the breath he'd been holding once he made it inside, and even then he kept it low. He couldn't see much; it was really rather dark. The only light in the room came from the moon, shining brightly onto the floor through the freaking enormous windows that framed the beast's bed.

 _Bed? So…no coffins?_

There _were_ very heavy looking curtains at either side, obviously hung there to block out as much light as possible, but they were temporarily drawn. Apparently the vampire enjoyed looking at the moon, too.

Once he'd looked around a bit, noting that the bed was dusty with little use, Alfred saw a small desk perched in the corner of the room. Above it sat a broken mirror (bad luck for Kirkland), but there were numerous trinkets and baubles just resting on it. Nothing was behind lock and key; all his things were just sitting there in the open!

He stepped closer, still wary though he'd decided to take his time exploring the room. There were shaving tools on the desk – a couple knives among other things. Alfred picked one up and examined it closely, thumbing the blade in concentration, but couldn't find a drop of blood. Disappointing. It wasn't that he'd expected to unravel a conspiracy in the man's shaving utensils, but it would have made him happy to know Kirkland sliced himself while shaving. Very happy.

Moving on, Alfred saw the handle of a drawer and decided to give it a tug. It didn't open easily, and obviously hadn't been opened for awhile, but when Alfred finally looked inside he was horrified to see…a _painting_? Damn.

He wanted to slam the drawer shut, maybe smash another mirror, he didn't give a fuck if he was caught anymore. This entire investigation had proven to be disappointing. _Still_ , he thought to himself, trying to be reasonable, _it wouldn't hurt to get some visual proof that Kirkland was the vampire you fought._ He sighed, still irritated, but picked the painting up. After flicking a spider off his finger, curious little guy, Alfred blew a thin sheet of dust off the painting. He brought it up to the window, held it under the light of the moon, and his breath was almost stolen from him when he finally got a good look at it.

The painting _was_ of the vampire – Arthur Kirkland, he was certain of it now – but it must have been back when he was human because he looked much younger. Still, no one could mistake that hair. Or those eyebrows. There were three older boys standing alongside him, brothers perhaps? Alfred couldn't make out their faces – there were scratch marks covering each one. Apparently Kirkland had some family issues, and Alfred got the feeling that he didn't want to know what happened to the rest of the Kirklands. If the scratched-out faces were anything to go by, it wasn't a pretty affair.

Alfred placed the painting back in the drawer, closing it as carefully as possible. He didn't want to look at it anymore. He had his proof, and now that he knew where the bloodsucker lived, he could just come back whenever and finish what they started in the woods. It wouldn't be tonight, but he would wait as long as it took. That _thing_ started more trouble than it was worth. And he was becoming desperate to make it up to his brother. Things just hadn't been the same since that night.

Alfred sighed, steeling himself for the walk downstairs. He wasn't even sure he could find the downstairs anymore. But then, just as he was preparing to take his leave, a strong and familiar scent emerged. Arthur's scent. The vampire was on his trail.

A knock rattled the door.

"I know you're in there, Bonnefoy."  
 _Bonnefoy?_ Alfred thought. _He expected the witch hunter._

"I know the party isn't over, but I'm coming in. It's time to finish this," Arthur said, his voice slightly muffled behind the door.

Alfred's heart was racing again, but he stood his ground. It was time for round two.

"I figured I'd lure you out this way. Honestly, you humans are so predic-,"

Arthur didn't finish his sentence. He stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes (which looked relatively normal this time) widened in horror at the sight before him. Alfred quickly surmised that he hadn't been expected.

"You must be surprised to see me" Alfred smirked, eyes narrowing.

It seemed as though Arthur was growing paler by the second, if that were even possible for a vampire. He stood there quietly for a few long moments, eyes darting every which way, probably trying to plan an escape route. Alfred promised himself that he wouldn't let Arthur escape, not again. But Arthur didn't stay frozen in fear much longer; his expression broke only moments later, shifting into one of unadulterated hatred. His eyes didn't do that freaky shit that they did in the woods, they stayed normal, but Alfred caught a small glimpse of the vampire's fangs as it snarled. He had to repress a shudder or two.

"You… _dog_ ," Arthur snapped, fists clenching. "You think you can just come into _my_ house so that you can corner me? Do you see what I am?! I could _kill_ you."

Alfred was bored of the conversation. He just wanted to fight, damn it all.

"Yeah? Get in line. Anyone could kill me. A dedicated duck could kill me if it wanted. You're not special," he snapped back.

Apparently that comeback was so awesome that Arthur didn't even have a reply. He'd open his mouth, then close it, then try and say something again, and then go silent again. He did this over and over again, much to Alfred's amusement. Finally it seemed that the vampire had tired of Alfred's games, because he suddenly stooped into a hunter's position and growled low in his throat – a growl harsh enough to let Alfred know that _someone_ was going to die tonight. God above, he prayed it wouldn't be him.

"You don't smell like dog today. I applaud you for blending into your surroundings," he said, glaring intensely at Alfred as the werewolf also crouched into position. He was prepared to shift anytime.

"I took a bath before I came here," Alfred explained, not even daring to look anywhere else. Their eyes were practically _glued_ to each other. The air was growing heavier, too. If either one were to look out the window, they would see a ring forming around the moon: a sign of trouble to come.

"Good," Arthur mused, eyes turning black with hunger, "it'll make your blood much more tolerable." He prepared himself to leap, wanting his kill to be quick and painless. He may have despised the werewolf in front of him, but the lad was only a _boy_. Let no one say Arthur Kirkland didn't have a heart in his undead chest.

He wasn't quick enough, though. Alfred had grabbed the knife from Arthur's dresser. He held it out in front of him as if it were a cross or protective totem, obviously feeling victorious in his efforts. If it were a normal knife, Arthur would have laughed. One stab wound wouldn't have been enough to hurt him, not from just _any_ blade. Unfortunately, even if the lad didn't know it, the blade he wielded was made of pure silver and its edges were laced with vervain. The combination would cause a great deal of pain to any vampire, was probably enough to temporarily stun one even. Arthur only used the herb because it gave him the cleanest shave. And sometimes, on days when he was feeling particularly low, the tiniest scrape would reawaken his veins and distract him from the inescapable depth of his thoughts. He wasn't proud of it, but it was his cross to bear.

Obviously it was a habit he needed to do away with, however, because the boy seemed to realize (probably just by searching Arthur's face) that he suddenly had the upper-hand in this fight. Arthur was cornered, and when he was cornered he often resorted to dangerous methods of escape. Awful methods, really. He had wanted to give the boy a quick and painless death, but fate clearly had other plans. He sighed regretfully, relaxing his muscles. Alfred stayed in position, still crouched with the knife held out in front of him like he was about to carve a turkey. It was too bad he didn't realize that _he_ would be the turkey.

He seemed to realize something was amiss; he cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

"Aren't you going to attack?"

"Unfortunately the plans have changed," Arthur sighed. "I'm not going to kill you today."

"Wha-," Alfred started. He stopped before he could finish the sentence; some invisible force had reached inside him, had frozen him where he stood. It felt like last time, like that time in the woods when he almost backed down, except even stronger. Arthur's eyes were narrowed in concentration, locking Alfred in place.

"You're going to kill yourself," Arthur said, like it was just that simple. He started muttering under his breath, some ancient tongue or something – something Alfred couldn't hear.

Before Alfred could even react, his vision went black. He'd lost control.

"Good boy," Arthur praised his puppet, "now I want you to slit your throat."

Arthur watched as Alfred raised the knife slowly to his collarbone, anxious to get the worst part over with. He would watch this foolish werewolf die, and then he'd dispose of the body (he was no longer hungry) and retreat downstairs to inform his guests that he was not feeling well and they would all have to leave. Bonnefoy hadn't confronted him, and Arthur didn't know if he was even at the party to begin with. Maybe his plan had failed. But at least he'd have one problem out of the way. One body to show for. The blade was level with Alfred's throat. It dug in only slightly at the very edge, and Arthur could see a drop of blood run down the werewolf's strong neck. He licked his lips. It would only be a matter of seconds now.

And then, just as Alfred readied himself to slice his own throat, it was as if a mask were removed – or a curse, maybe? Whatever it was, the blackness faded and there was only Arthur standing in front of him and…a knife to his throat?

He dropped it instantly, and when he looked up, Arthur was (once again) staring at him in horror. He seemed too stunned to speak in coherent sentences, but Alfred could make out a couple words at least.

"H-Ho-How? How did you…impossi-," Arthur sputtered, clutching at the door to steady himself, obviously about to make a run for it.

In truth, Alfred didn't know how he broke free either, but he wasn't about to question it. He still had the upper-hand in this fight. Feeling that familiar energy run through him, the energy that ran through his veins whenever he was about to make a good kill, Alfred readied himself to shift. _Finally._

Both men paused when a multitude of horrified shrieks pierced the night. Though they were several floors above the festivities, they could hear the low rumblings of panic, could feel the manor quivering beneath their feet. Alfred temporarily let his guard down, noticing that Arthur was just as confused as he was. He sniffed the air, and jerked back when he finally smelled it: smoke.

"You smell it too, then?"

"Yeah," Alfred nodded, watching to see Arthur's reaction. Would the vampire flee? Would he see this as an opportunity to attack Alfred? Personally, Alfred could not have cared less what Arthur did. He could always track him down later, but right now he _needed_ to find Mattie. Arthur hissed, but instead of attacking Alfred, he simply shoved past him and dashed over to the window. He pressed his hands against the glass and looked down. He couldn't see flames, but a large black cloud was circling around the manor, wafting skyward.

Arthur released a cry of frustration, slamming his fists against the glass. He sighed ruefully, shaking his head back and forth before turning back to Alfred, loose wisps of hair hanging in front of his face.

"A truce, then," he said hastily, walking slowly past Alfred. The werewolf watched him carefully, and at one point Arthur stopped so that their shoulders brushed. _Another promise that they'd meet again?_

Then Arthur Kirkland bolted away, disappearing again with inhuman speed. Alfred stared into the blackness of the hall, then shifted his gaze to the contrasting brightness of the moon. Wisps of smoke danced around the window now, and the smell was growing even stronger. Alfred coughed into his fist once, then quickly decided that he needed to get downstairs before the flames made it to his level. He swore he could already feel the heat between his toes.

No one could determine how the fire had started. One moment ladies and gentlemen were dancing, gossiping, and drinking like there was no tomorrow, and the next moment saw the entire building engulfed by terrified screams, shattered windows, and smoke. So much smoke. Matthew had been one of the first to escape, knowing his brother would find him once he sensed trouble. Alfred was there beside him; standing together near the front gate, they watched the flames lick up the sides of Kirkland Manor. They leapt for the sky, black clouds following in their wake. It didn't take long for the hundreds of guests watching below to realize the building was forsaken. They held each other tightly, but few dared look away as the building was stained black, the wood-work crumbling away – hundreds of years' worth of history destroyed. Matthew could see a few people holding others back, and some had fallen to their knees – wailing for family or friends that had yet to escape. What a grisly sight.

Matthew watched Alfred from the corner of his eye. His face was turned away from the disaster, either too tired or too distracted to pay any mind. He lowered his head and sniffed, the shadows covering his eyes so that Matthew couldn't get a good look at his expression. He took Alfred's hand and squeezed, but Alfred didn't respond.

Another hand placed itself on Matthew's shoulder.

"How terrible," Francis said lowly, nearly whispering in Matthew's ear. "I can see that your brother is taking it hard."

Matthew blinked kindly at Francis, but noticed Alfred stiffen to his right.

"It's been an overwhelming night," he replied, turning his eyes back to the fire. He knew not everyone had escaped, but it was too late for them now judging by the sheer height of the flames.

"It has," Francis agreed. "Although," he added, his tone slipping into one of curiosity, "I can't help but wonder if Lord Kirkland made it out. I regret to say I never formally introduced myself."

"It was him," Alfred whispered harshly, startling Matthew.

"The man with the black robes and the brows like caterpillars?" Francis said bluntly. "Yes, I'm aware. Lorraine pointed him out to me."

"That woman you were speaking to? I haven't seen her," Matthew commented, scanning the crowds for the red woman's face. "Did she make it out alright?"

"Oh yes," Francis nodded, squeezing Matthew's shoulder reassuringly. "I escorted her out and called for a carriage to take her home. The poor woman was so shaken up."

Matthew nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. Alfred was fidgeting to his right, staring off into the woods again with wide, unfocused eyes. He took Matthew's hand without warning, making Matthew jump.

"Alfred, wha-,"

"He was the vampire, Mattie. It was him. It was him all along and I…"

"Alfred?" Matthew whispered. His brother was starting to frighten him, though the idea that Lord Kirkland was a vampire made a strange sort of sense. He noticed Francis lean closer, truly interested in what Alfred had to say.

 _Well, obviously_. _He hunts vampires. He'd also hunt you if he knew what you were._

"He killed Renate, Mattie. I didn't stop him…I…"

"Shh, Alfred," Matthew hushed him. Francis was standing right there, and Alfred was saying far too much. He leaned closer to Alfred, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. His brother was shaking, and for a moment Matthew feared he would shift right there in front of everyone. Obviously there had been some sort of confrontation between Kirkland and his brother, but Matthew knew he would hear more of it later. For now, he saw it best to keep his brother _away_ from that vampire. If what Alfred said was true, Kirkland was the same creature Alfred faced in the woods that night. And if he could do…something like _that_ to an innocent woman…God, Matthew didn't even want to consider the possibilities. He didn't want to picture Alfred lying there, broken and bloody beneath Kirkland's feet.

He honestly felt disgusting. He never wanted to wish bad things upon any creature, and yet he _was_. He was disgusting because...because he hoped Arthur Kirkland had died in that fire. He hoped it had ripped him apart from the inside out, melted his bones into ash and turned his skin to dust. But he also knew, knew by the way Alfred suddenly perked up on his shoulder, knew by the way he constantly stared into the forest behind the charred remains of Kirkland Manor, that neither of them had seen the last of the vampire lord.

* * *

"I didn't raise you just to starve you, Alfred," Tino said, pushing a plate of smoked meat closer to Alfred. Alfred stared moodily at his adoptive father, sighing at the expectant smile on his face. His Papa could get him to do anything with that expression: so open and loving, but almost stern in his own special way. Still, he wasn't very hungry. He just wanted to go outside, go run for a bit. Dusk was falling and then the packs would take the forest before he could even step foot in it.

Matthew nudged him in the side, blinking at him in concern. It had been two weeks since that party. Alfred wasn't as distracted as he had been, but Matthew wasn't easing up. He kept an uncomfortably close eye on Alfred nowadays. Their parents, Tino and Berwald, most likely assumed that the fire was the thing that bothered Alfred the most. It was understandable, the fire had sent shock waves through the town; it was a traumatizing event. Of course the fire should bother him.

"He wants to go outside," Berwald said, regarding Alfred with his typical stoicism. Good ole' Dad – always so blunt and indifferent.

"Isn't it a bit dark?" Tino glanced anxiously between Alfred and Berwald.

"Just a bit," Matthew chimed in. He'd stopped eating and was shooting warning glances at Alfred.

"You just think I'm going to get into trouble," Alfred laughed, finally tearing into his meat. He'd just have to play it normal until they excused him.

"Yes," Matthew agreed. God, when did Mattie become so much like Berwald? He was even eyeing Alfred with the same stoic expression – the _I will disapprove of everything you do for all eternity_ expression. He was starting to regret telling Matthew about his and Arthur's previous exchanges. Mattie was just being protective, looking out for him and all that shit like a good little bro. But Alfred desperately needed to elude his brother's attention – just an hour alone sounded magnificent.

"C'mon Papa," Alfred pleaded, gripping the edge of the table with both hands, "I just need to clear my head – maybe shift for a little bit. You said yourself that you didn't like us doing it in the daytime. Dad, you'll let me go, right?"

"S'whatever Papa wants," Berwald shrugged. Oh yeah, Alfred forgot that Berwald was always fucking _whipped._

Tino sighed, looking at Matthew hopelessly. They seemed to speak to each other with their eyes, but like hell Alfred knew what they were saying. It kind of ticked him off; they'd been talking behind his back for weeks. Worrying about him and all that shit. If they'd just let him outside, they wouldn't have to worry anymore. He just wanted to work the stress off. Right. That's _all_ he wanted to do.

"Matthew, dear, will you go with him?" Tino asked. He hadn't even finished the question when Mattie stood, ready to guard Alfred like he was a pup. Wasn't he supposed to be the older sibling? Why was the world turning on its ear all of a sudden?

"Thanks Papa," Alfred muttered, feeling rather guilty when he saw the torn expression on Tino's face. Berwald rubbed his back soothingly as Mattie shoved Alfred outside, shutting the door behind them. Alfred _really_ didn't like upsetting his folks. It was unlikely he'd ever find a more devoted set of parents.

"There," Mattie barked, gesturing at where they stood, "you're outside. Now cut the crap and tell me what you're planning."

"I'm not planning anything!" Alfred whined, one hand massaging his head and the other moving to his hip. He felt about ready to rip his hair out. "God, it's like I'm being interrogated every day now. Can't I just go outside for a run? Or hell, a piss even? Or do you need to watch me do that, too?" he snapped.

"You want to go find him," Matthew whispered fiercely. "You want to track down that bloodsucker and fight him again, don't you? God Alfred," he nearly screeched, "he's almost killed you twice! Fucking twice, and you honestly want _more_?"

"No!" Alfred yelled. He imagined they were getting a little too loud, but he didn't really care. He just wanted to get out of there. "I don't want more. I don't want anything like that to ever happen again. That's exactly why I _have_ to be the hero and stop him before he can hurt anyone else! You don't get it, Mattie," he whined, his expression pleading with his brother to understand. "I _know_ he's still out there. I don't know what he's doing, but I know he's still lurking around. It's like…it's like his scent _follows_ me. I'm so paranoid now. He's already put himself inside my head twice. He's already taken control of me, and I'm supposed to be uncontrollable. I'm supposed to be the protector," he sighed, feeling hopeless. He didn't know if his words were making any impact, or if he was even making sense. He really wanted to run.

Matthew was looking at him like he was crazy. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab his brother's shoulder and shake him stupid, wanted to tell him the things he knew for certain: _I'm not crazy, but I'll never be completely sane until I confront Arthur. He almost killed me and I'm scared of him. I'm so scared of him. I've never been so scared. I've always been…untouchable._

But Alfred didn't say any of those things. Instead, he turned and he ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He heard Matthew call after him, but it was too late to turn around now. He'd made his decision: he was going to find Arthur, and then he would… _talk_ to him. Just talk. He needed to confront the vampire man to man if he was ever going to get over the fear that gripped him. If he liked what Arthur said, maybe he'd let the guy live. It wasn't as if he had a home to return to anyways, or clothes, or _anything_ for that matter.

He started in the trees directly outside Kirkland Manor. The place was a skeleton now, black and broken - just an empty shell compared to what it once was. Alfred didn't pass the gate, but he did linger outside of it for just a few silent moments before continuing. He shifted and traversed the perimeter of the fence, sniffing the air and some of the debris that had blown into the woods. He recoiled slightly when he caught the scent, as if he expected Arthur to fall from the sky on top of him or something, but chided himself and bent forward to get a better whiff. The trail was somewhat cold, and it seemed to lead in the direction of the town, but Alfred was nothing if not persistent. He followed it determinedly, curious as to why a vampire would flee towards the town instead of further out into the woods. Alfred would need to shift back into his human form once he got a little closer; he wasn't going to risk being executed just so he could speak to Arthur. After that, he could only hope that the odor of the town hadn't completely masked what was left of Arthur's trail.

He shifted quickly upon reaching the edge, and marched into the main square in the most _unsuspicious_ fashion he could manage. Granted, it was super late so it wasn't as if many people would actually see him. But this was a small town and small towns gossiped sometimes. The last thing he needed was to arouse the suspicion of some paranoid fanatic and end up at the end of a noose as a result.

Alfred inhaled deeply, letting his nose guide him through the streets. He was always surprised to discover how strong his sense of smell truly was, even in human form. It was a lucky thing too, because Alfred didn't think people would react well to seeing a giant wolf patrolling the streets. But at least he had fur as a wolf; the night air was becoming crisp and Alfred found himself shivering every so often. It wasn't too bad yet, but he desperately hoped Arthur had sought shelter in someplace _warm_. Of course, there was still the question of whether Arthur was in the town at all. The trail had faded after all, and there was nothing stopping Arthur from simply picking up and moving on. That's what Alfred would have done – made a fresh start somewhere else, perhaps somewhere warmer. With beaches, because beaches were fucking awesome.

However, lucky for Alfred, the trail grew stronger as he approached the town's church. A fitting location, really. Arthur could use some more Jesus in his life. Alfred placed his hand on the old wooden doors, leaning forward and inhaling, temple creased in concentration.

 _He isn't here_ , Alfred thought, turning away from the main entrance. Arthur wasn't _in_ the church, but maybe…

Alfred followed the scent around to the back. The cemetery stood quietly, harboring nothing except for the dead. A huge willow guarded some of the graves, its branches dancing under the ministrations of the wind. Alfred hated cemeteries, thought they were super creepy. Still, he had come too far to turn back here. Eyes fixed forward, Alfred followed Arthur's scent to another set of doors sticking up from the ground. The catacombs. The werewolf _definitely_ didn't want to go down there; he and skeletons didn't really mix well. But if Arthur was in there…well…he supposed he had little choice in the matter.

Alfred swallowed hard, gripping the doors and wrenching them open. He was instantly smacked in the face by a chilly, stale-smelling rush of air. He shivered a little bit too – not an _I'm cold_ shiver but a _Holy shit there are dead people down there_ shiver. And what's worse, he was going down to meet a vampire that arguably wanted nothing more than to see him rot. Good times.

He stepped down slowly, taking his time as he inched down the stone steps. There were lit torches on the walls, so the place wasn't pitch black as Alfred had originally feared. It was still nippy, but not any colder than it had been outside. The torches really helped.

He held his breath when he reached the coffins. While it may have been silly to expect someone to rise from the dead without the use of black magic (zombies had been extinct for years, after all), the unease still nagged in the back of Alfred's head. Maybe that's why werewolves were so uncomfortable around vampires – they were both beasts, but at least werewolves had heartbeats. Vampires were just…walking dead people. Sometimes with manners, as opposed to zombies who hadn't the social skills to _not_ eat their neighbor's brains, let alone carry a conversation.

Alfred jumped as he heard something rustle deeper within the catacombs. He tried to convince himself that mice had made the noise, he'd noticed a few dead ones lying around, but Arthur's scent only grew heavier the more he progressed. There were spots of blood on the floor too, some creating a line that led behind a huge wall of coffins in the farthest corner of the catacombs. He could see where the path ended above the coffins themselves, and knew that he'd finally reached the end of the line. His vampire was just around the corner.

He'd debated with himself earlier on how to approach Arthur. He could have either taken the cautious route (hands held up in surrender, voice soft and reasonable) or the badass route (charging in head-first, claws extended). In the end, he kind of just mumbled a quick pep-talk to himself and shuffled around the corner awkwardly. Arthur _was_ there, Alfred's nose hadn't let him down, but the man he saw couldn't have been the same man he'd fought that night. The man he saw was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His hair was a mess, that was no surprise, and his clothes were practically in tatters. He looked like shit.

His nails looked kind of dull, and there was blood crusted around them as if Arthur had gnawed them off. His posture was entirely too vulnerable; he was shaking too, rocking back and forth with his head stuck between his knees. Even if he knew Alfred was there, he hadn't acknowledged him at all. He was whispering something to himself in a mantra, rocking back and forth while Alfred just stood there awkwardly. He didn't expect to pity Arthur when he first saw him. He expected to be angry, afraid, maybe even relieved under the right circumstances. This, on the other hand, was too much for Alfred to bear.

 _Well, let's get this over with._

"Arthur," Alfred called out to him, his voice unusually soft.

Arthur stopped rocking. One blood-shot green eye peeked over Arthur's arm, watching Alfred warily. A moment passed and Alfred had to swallow again. The eye blinked tiredly before closing, and Arthur nestled his face back into the groove of his knees.

"You found me," he croaked, voice muffled. He sounded hoarse.

"Guess so," Alfred agreed. He felt a little more relaxed, having realized that Arthur didn't intend to hurt him. He doubted the vampire could hurt a field-mouse in the state he was in.

"Why did you come for me?" Arthur asked, sounding pained.

"Because…" Alfred trailed off, glancing down at his feet. But that made him feel too vulnerable, so instead he clicked his tongue and stretched his arms over his head. "Because I wanted to talk."

"I'm in no mood to talk, dog," Arthur growled, turning his face to glare up at Alfred. Alfred flinched at the bite in his tone, the same bite Alfred remembered all too clearly.

"The name's Alfred," Alfred continued, trying his best to look undaunted, "Alfred F. Jones. Pleasure to meet you."

"It won't be so pleasurable when I rip your throat out," Arthur rasped, curling into himself and clutching at his throat as if he were in pain. "Christ, I can hardly breathe," he groaned. "I need some fresh blood…something…" he trailed off, beating his palms against his forehead. "I'm going mad."

"You…haven't eaten?" Alfred blanched. Arthur must have been really desperate, which would have made Alfred look positively delectable – whether he smelled like a wet dog or not. He wasn't exactly sure why Arthur had come down here anyways. Wouldn't it have been easier to just flee when he had the chance? Why stick around?

"I have," Arthur admitted. He leaned against the wall, limbs going slack. He looked so weak. "But the blood of mice can only go so far," he laughed miserably. "I crawled down here when everything went to shit, thought to myself, 'Someone will come down sooner or later. Someone will come down and then you can eat until you have the strength to leave.' Ha…but I guess I wasn't entirely wrong. Youhavecome."

"Why didn't you just leave when the fire started?" Alfred asked, kneeling to Arthur's level. "Why stay?"

Arthur blinked slowly at Alfred. He was looking through the boy though, mentally revisiting that night.

"I tried," he answered in a whisper, staring at nothing. "But I wasn't quick enough."

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked, eyebrows knitting together. Then Arthur groaned lowly in pain, and Alfred's eyes traveled down to where the vampire clutched at his side. Alfred reached forward slowly, jerking back when Arthur hissed in warning. "I might be a dog, but you're acting like a damn cat right now," Alfred huffed, meeting Arthur's eyes. "Let me see."

Arthur glared at him furiously, but those green eyes glinted in pain. Alfred held his hand level for a few breathless moments, keeping his gaze steady as not to startle Arthur and risk having his hand torn off. Eventually Arthur seemed to give in, turning his face away a biting his lip. His hand trembled as it fell from his side. Alfred whispered his thanks; he could feel his heart beating again. This was going much smoother than he'd originally imagined. His fingers twitched as he stretched his hand out, pausing before he clasped his fingers around the edge of the fabric. He tried to meet Arthur's eyes again, but the vampire had since closed his eyes. He looked extremely uncomfortable, which made Alfred feel uneasy.

Still, Alfred inhaled deeply and pulled the robe aside to examine the damage. He openly winced at the gaping wound just below Arthur's ribs. It looked as if the vampire had been stabbed with a sword or a knife, and the wound had obviously festered horribly. It took a skilled eye to detect where the original incision had been made – Arthur's right side had turned almost completely black, making the wound appear even larger and more repugnant.

"How did this happen?" Alfred asked in bewilderment. Arthur smiled wryly.

"Vervain. It packs a nasty punch, especially for vampires."

"But…who-,"

"Bonnefoy found me…as I was trying to escape. It was so strange," Arthur mused. "It was as if he had been waiting for me the whole time. Well," he chuckled hoarsely, "I ended up leaping from one of the windows, but he still nicked me good. Bloody wanker."

"So, are you…?"

"Dying?" Arthur finished. "Probably not. But I won't have enough strength to make it out of here unless I feed properly. I suppose this means I'm at your mercy." Arthur was smiling now, but his eyes were still cold and his form was still slightly bent in a mix of pain and exhaustion. Alfred remained silent, shocked to suddenly find himself in a position of power. It seemed almost too easy. He'd faced this vampire twice and barely escaped with his life each time, and now he could end it all if he wanted. He could avenge Renate for his brother. He could make the world safer with one less bloodsucker. He could be the _hero_.

Although, as he looked down at the pitiful man in front of him, weak and resigned to his own vulnerability, Alfred found himself feeling less and less like a hero. He knew from the start that vampires and werewolves could never be friends, but it wasn't in his nature to just accept such a pessimistic ideology. Looking deep inside himself, Alfred realized that he had never truly accepted it either. He was optimistic by default. It wasn't in his nature to kill either, not when his opponent was on such unequal footing. He wasn't sure what to do. He had no way to help Arthur, but he wasn't sure he could simply walk away and leave him either. Maybe killing him was the most merciful thing to do.

Arthur was staring at him expectantly. He didn't look afraid, maybe just a little impatient to get on with it. Alfred suspected he'd be chiding him for being such a slow-thinker if he had just a bit more strength in him. As it was, his eyes were sadly fading little by little; the vibrant green had dulled to a misty hue. Alfred chewed on the inside of his cheek, tossing his options around in his head. He _knew_ of a way he could help Arthur, truly give him the best chance to leave and begin again, but it was also risky as fuck. It could very well end disastrously for Alfred, but he'd gotten himself into worse situations in the past…probably. He was tired of being scared.

Alfred cleared his throat, and Arthur raised a brow. Francis was right, they really did look like caterpillars.

"Well, I could feed you…if you want," Alfred offered, face turning red.

"I don't suppose you have a leftover turkey leg stuffed in your breeches, do you lad?"

"No," Alfred shook his head, scowling, "I mean…I could let you feed…off of _me_."

Arthur's eyes widened just a fraction, and Alfred could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Arthur was staring at Alfred, searching his expression, but Alfred couldn't make himself look back. He stared at the ceiling, face hot.

"Have you lost your senses, boy?" Arthur asked sharply. "You wanted to kill me only a few days back, and now you want to nurse me back to health?"

"Shut up," Alfred growled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek until he broke the skin. "I-I just thought it could help…y'know…get you on your feet so you can get out of here. Don't take it the wrong way," Alfred added quickly, "I don't expect to see your face again after you leave." It was meant to be a threat, but it sounded weak even to Alfred's ears.

Arthur looked wary, which was surprising considering _Alfred_ was the one offering to get his neck bit by a fucking vampire. Still, he looked as if he was legitimately considering Alfred's proposition. He'd be stupid not to, Alfred decided. He hadn't known Arthur Kirkland long, but he read him as the fighting type. Someone who always found something to live for, even at their lowest.

Alfred finally lowered his eyes back to Arthur when he heard the man sigh. Arthur's eyes were closed, and his brows were furrowed. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Are you sure about this, lad?"

Alfred felt his stomach drop. The fear was almost suffocating.

"Definitely," he nodded. Arthur nodded too, and when he opened his eyes they were practically black with hunger. Alfred swallowed as the vampire scooted closer, reaching his own hand out to Alfred's neck. The werewolf stiffened as he felt ice cold fingers brush the delicate flesh concealing Alfred's pulse. He closed his eyes and, embarrassingly enough, accidently whimpered – prompting Arthur to hush him in an oddly gentle manner. Those fingers, so dainty and precise, moved up to glide through Alfred's hair. Then they cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer, and Arthur nuzzled into Alfred's shoulder until his lips were just barely brushing the boy's flesh. Alfred gasped, neck stiffening as the vampire took a pinch of skin between his lips and sucked lightly. He also licked the spot, alternating between soft kisses and sensual licks until Alfred had finally relaxed. He was quivering slightly, but Arthur figured the boy was as ready as he'd ever be.

"Brace yourself, because this might hurt," Arthur paused to whisper hotly in Alfred's ear. Alfred nodded, swallowing again as Arthur opened his jaws and bit Alfred in one smooth motion. Alfred cried out softly, the squeal dying in his throat as Arthur began to drink. Alfred's body jerked a bit, and Arthur had to grip his shoulders just to keep him in place, forehead creased in concentration. God, werewolf blood tasted awful. It smelled pretty bad, too – like a stinky dog. But hey, at least it was giving Arthur some sort of nourishment. He'd almost expected it to kill him faster, werewolf blood was putrid after all, but the feelings he experienced were quite the opposite of death. He was starting to feel _very_ much alive. He still felt a bit weak, but his strength was slowly returning with each individual suck. He only hoped Alfred wasn't in too much pain; he opened one eye to check the boy's expression, and was pleased to see that he looked calm now. Almost completely relaxed. His face began to twist into one of bliss, however, and Arthur couldn't fathom why until a wave of bliss hit him as well.

Feeling blissful while feeding was…not completely unheard of. After all, feeding restored a vampire's vitals and energy, among other things. It wasn't odd for Arthur to feel good while feeding, but he was starting to feel more than just _good_. Feeding off Alfred was becoming one of the most pleasurable things he'd ever experienced. And if Alfred's expression was anything to go by, he must have felt the same. Arthur could even hear him moaning softly under his breath.

 _They're delicious,_ Arthur couldn't help but think. The boy's moans were addicting.

Suddenly the pleasure increased sharply, ripping a moan from Arthur's own throat. His senses had increased tenfold, but they were locked only on Alfred. He could hear Alfred's heartbeat, felt his nerves trembling, his blood pulsing on his tongue and in his head. He could smell his scent, bloody awful, but also warm and wild like the wilderness that Arthur was so secretly fond of. He could smell the pines and streams of the forest, could see the wildflowers dancing in the breeze. The heather bending under the wind's gentle caresses. Heather, like Alfred's eyes. Eyes that fluttered open as Alfred gasped, and Arthur felt so intimately connected with the werewolf that he was almost brought to tears. And then he knew that Alfred must have felt the same, because a tiny droplet fell from Alfred's lashes and onto Arthur's forehead.

" _Alfred_ ," Arthur moaned, releasing his hold on the boy and lapping at the two small holes that remained.

" _Wha-,_ " Alfred gasped, panting and swaying as if coming down from a high. "W-What on earth _was_ that?" Arthur tried to hold the boy steady. It would be awhile before he could stand properly again.

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted, also panting slightly. His wound still ached, but his strength was almost completely restored. He felt warm, too, warmer than he had in ages. And, as humiliating as it was, he soon discovered that his veins were not the only things that had awakened. His body was thrumming pleasantly in _unexpected_ places. "I-It's never been like that before," he choked back a groan, eyes dark and lidded with a different sort of hunger.

"Well," Alfred laughed breathlessly, "have you had enough yet?" He smiled dopily at Arthur, and the vampire knew that he wouldn't be satisfied until he subdued the… _issue…_ in his breeches.

"No," he gasped, caressing Alfred's cheek, pulling him closer once more. The boy looked confused, but all confusion was wiped clean from his face when Arthur leaned forward and kissed him hard.

Alfred squeaked against Arthur's mouth, causing Arthur to smirk. _How cute._ But the vampire didn't have to wait long for the boy to respond; much to his satisfaction, Alfred began leaning into the kiss within mere seconds. An arm wrapped lazily around Arthur's waist, and Alfred began to thumb Arthur's hipbone through his robes. Arthur sighed and nipped Alfred's bottom lip, enjoying the yelp he received in reply, and lapped up the tiny beads of blood that welled to the surface. He licked Alfred's lips hungrily, begging for entrance into his hot mouth, and let out a pleased moan when Alfred eagerly accepted.

Their tongues met in the middle, not quite fighting for dominance (the poor lad could hardly keep up with Arthur's graceful strokes), but the motions still sent pleasurable chills down their spines. Eventually Alfred seemed to want to take some control back for himself, because he clasped his large hands around Arthur's thighs and tried to pull the slightly smaller man into his lap. Arthur growled, nipping at Alfred's lips again, but eventually allowed himself to be moved. He sincerely hoped Alfred appreciated his compliance – it wasn't everyday someone man-handled Arthur Kirkland.

Alfred's hands squeezed Arthur's ass, just enough to force the vampire to pull away so that he could moan long and loud. Alfred watched him with a sultry smile, raising his hips so that their now prominent erections could grind against each other. Arthur let out a sound that _may_ have resembled a whimper, but he chose to ignore it in favor of grinding back against Alfred, clutching his shoulders and lifting himself up and down in fluid motions. He didn't kiss Alfred again, just panted and whined against his mouth, feeling as though he might burst with exhilaration. And the best part hadn't even happened yet.

Alfred dipped his head to kiss along Arthur's throat, and the feeling was just too strange for Arthur not to enjoy it. He'd been the predator for so long that having someone else nibble and kiss such a sensitive area was…well, he couldn't deny it: it was a _huge_ turn-on.

"Arthur," Alfred sighed, "I want - I mean, can we…?"

Arthur kept grinding, hands moving up to tangle in Alfred's hair. He closed his eyes and gasped before pulling Alfred's head away from his throat, leaning forward to capture the werewolf's lips again. He kissed him until they were both breathless, and then let go to whisper his consent.

"Oh God yes," were the exact words he used. But sensing that Alfred wanted to take control, Arthur immediately placed his hands on the boy's chest and forced him down – making it so that he was lying on his back. "But _I_ will be the one topping," he purred, ripping Alfred's shirt in half and running his fingers down the newly-exposed skin. _Beautiful._

It was rather odd how they had come to this. Arthur still wasn't sure what had happened between them during the feeding, didn't know why these new feelings were taking such rapid control of him. He didn't know why this boy was making such an impact on him, either. If there was anything he _did_ know however, it was that these things always had some sort of scientific or magical explanation. Maybe there was witchcraft involved, a curse of some sorts. Or maybe it _was_ all biological and the two men were just extremely fucking horny. Either way, Arthur decided that he would contemplate these trifles later. For now, he was just focused on getting Alfred's damned pants off.

Alfred raised his hips as Arthur fiddled with his breeches, dragging them (as well as his undergarments) down his legs. The boy's eyes were lidded wantonly, and he seemed to accept the fact that he wasn't going to be in control tonight. Arthur tugged Alfred's bottom garments completely off and tossed them somewhere over his shoulder. He ran his hand down Alfred's thigh, pinching his arse and smirking when the boy yelped and glared at him without any real malice. Arthur figured the boy was too horny to truly protest anything he did. Good. Bottoming could be quite painful for the unwilling, and he didn't know Alfred well-enough to know which position he preferred. Arthur eyed Alfred's erection, impressed by its size and girth. He licked his lips and moved his hand directly over it, barely brushing its tip. Alfred's body seized up and he gasped, his knees arching. Arthur took hold of Alfred's cock, stroking up and down leisurely as the boy squirmed beneath him.

" _Hah…_ c-can't believe we're actually doing this in a crypt… _ah!"_ Alfred gasped, throwing his head back.

"I'm already going to hell," Arthur whispered, unfastening his pants and freeing his own cock from its confines. "Might as well have a good fuck while I still can," he hissed as he gripped his own member, stroking it in time with the strokes he gave Alfred. "Oh _fuck_ ," he whispered, shivering.

"Are you cold?" Alfred asked, cracking one eye open. He placed his hand over Arthur's, helping him stroke Alfred's cock at an even faster pace.

"I've been cold for years," Arthur sighed, and it sounded too sad to Alfred. He squeezed Arthur's hand, forcing him to stop his stroking (even though it felt fucking amazing), and leaned up to kiss him tenderly on the lips instead. Arthur's eyes flashed open in surprise, but then he sighed against Alfred's lips, holding his chin to keep the boy close. When they parted, both searching for air, Alfred's eyes stared deeply into Arthur's. The blue was almost completely gone, shrouded in black just like Arthur's.

"I bet I'm pretty warm inside," he whispered, leaning back on elbows and staring up at Arthur with the most lewd expression on his face. Arthur's face twisted into one of unbearable arousal. He nearly growled as he shoved Alfred to the floor, nibbling along the curve of Alfred's jaw and leaving tiny marks.

"Oh God, Alfred," he said in-between bites, "are you ready for me, then?"

"Fuck yeah," Alfred groaned, palming Arthur's cock briefly before grabbing the man's hand. He pulled it closer to his face, experimentally licking Arthur's digits – just once – and then smiling, hah, _wolfishly_ when the vampire had to choke back a moan.

"Tease," Arthur chuckled, planting his hands on either side of Alfred's head and grinding his erection right up against Alfred's. Oh heavens, that felt _divine_.

" _Fuck_ …ah, you know it," Alfred grunted, taking all of Arthur's fingers at once, lathering them with saliva as he licked and sucked each individual finger. Arthur observed his task happily, stroking Alfred's cock instead of his own – the feeling of the boy's tongue against his fingers was going straight to his cock, anyways. When he was satisfied with his work, and desperate as hell to feel Arthur's cock inside of him, Alfred gave Arthur's fingers one last lick before releasing them – a trail of saliva falling from his lips. Arthur brushed it away, thumb pressing lightly against Alfred's lip as he bent over to kiss him soundly. He combed his dry hand through Alfred's hair as he reached down, a single finger circling Alfred's entrance – then sliding into his tight heat.

"Yesss," Alfred sighed, bucking against the one finger, already desperate for more. Arthur stroked Alfred's side, pumping the finger in and out a couple times before adding another one and rubbing the two rhythmically against Alfred's walls. Alfred took both just as easily as the one, rolling his head back and mewling. Arthur wanted to fuck him so badly – screw the preparations, the lad was so needy that it drove Arthur crazy. His cock was leaking pre-cum, and if both boys weren't so desperate for the main event, Arthur would have given that a nice suck, too.

"Want the third?" Arthur teased, quirking his brow playfully.

"I want the whole thing," Alfred huffed. "I'm used to bottoming. I just want your cock."

"Impatient," Arthur sighed, adding a third finger and then a fourth and stroking extra gently when Alfred seized up in discomfort. "You see?" he chided. "Bottom bitch or not, you need to be stretched."

"Mm, _fuck._ S-Shut up," Alfred bit back, biting his lip to suppress a gaggle of moans. He was so full already, but he was about to get so much more.

Arthur pumped and stretched his fingers just a couple more times, making sure Alfred was adequately prepared, and then removed them so he could line himself up with Alfred's entrance. He took Alfred's legs and pulled them around his hips; one of them brushed across his injuries, and he swallowed a low groan of pain. Ignoring the ache, he grabbed his cock, stroking it a couple times for good measure, and then nudged it against Alfred's ass. He rubbed it in circular motions against the rim, moaning in anticipation.

"Are y-you sure you're up to this?" Alfred asked, lifting his head to blink hazily up at Arthur. "You're still an invalid," he pointed out.

Arthur adjusted Alfred's legs against him. His side did still hurt a bit, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Arthur was used to pain.

"I've fucked in worse condition than this," he snapped, entering Alfred in one swift motion, distracting him from his concern. Alfred didn't seem to complain. He chewed on his lip and sighed, mumbling something about it being "really fucking good".

His comment had left Arthur feeling conflicted, though. The lad shouldn't worry about him; he'd be gone in the morning. He'd go away, just like Alfred suggested. He'd go far, far away and try to forget any of this ever happened. It had been his way of life back in the day, back when he was a pirate. He fucked people and departed before the sun could rise, hopping from coast to coast – dead, but still so alive.

"Hey," Alfred, laughed. He seemed just a bit too happy. They were having a one-night stand in the middle of a crypt, for Christ's sake. "Are you gonna fuck me or what?"

"Hush," Arthur snapped, kissing him to keep him quiet. He began rocking against Alfred, throwing his head back in pleasure; the boy was still so tight, despite implying that he did this regularly. And sweet heaven, he was so wonderfully hot inside, too. Arthur knew werewolves ran warmer than most beasts, but this lad radiated warmth like he radiated stupidity. So naively beautiful.

Arthur rolled his hips and Alfred clutched at him desperately, whimpering again. He threw his arms around Arthur's neck, trying to pull him down for another kiss. Arthur thought about refusing just to be coy, but couldn't very well resist when Alfred was looking up at him like that: cowlick bouncing with each thrust, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and mouth smiling just for Arthur – only for Arthur – soft pants escaping every so often. Arthur kissed him, despite thinking it was just a little _too_ romantic, but didn't hesitate to pound into Alfred. The catacombs echoed with the sound of skin slapping skin, and Arthur felt as though their individual scents were combining. Or maybe that was just the smell of sex, but either way – it smelled better than death.

"Does it," Arthur paused to moan, "does it feel good?"

"So good!" Alfred cried after one particularly hard thrust, "I'm…hah…dripping all over the place," he said while craning his neck, watching as beads of cum ran down his cock. Arthur saw it, too – wanted to lean down and lick it off slowly. He wouldn't be able to reach that far, but he caught some on his finger and brought it to his lips. Alfred watched as he slipped the finger between his lips and sucked on it, moaning as he sucked Alfred's cum and fucked Alfred simultaneously.

"You, _ah_ , hot bastard," Alfred laughed, foot softly kicking Arthur in the rump. He cried out when he felt Arthur's hand wrap around his cock again, jerking harshly. Arthur wanted to see him cum. He was close, and he knew Alfred wouldn't last much longer either. He jerked Alfred with steady motions, his other hand reaching up to snare itself in Alfred's hair, forcibly pulling his head back so that his throat was bared for Arthur.

Alfred's eyes were lidded and focused on Arthur. At this point he wasn't even trying to restrain his moans, and he seemed to understand what Arthur wanted just by looking at his face. He grit his teeth and steeled himself for the bite.

"Do it," he sobbed, "Oh fuck Arthur, please do it!"

Arthur surprised himself by sobbing too, but seeing Alfred so open and wanton, having seen him like that for the past…God knows how many minutes…had nearly driven him to euphoric insanity. Cum was already leaking from his hole, running down the cleft of his ass. Arthur's cum. Arthur's seed inside him as Arthur continued to fuck him into the stone floor. It was too much. He _needed_ to bite.

Arthur sank his fangs into Alfred's neck again, and Alfred screamed as he released all over himself and Arthur – cum spilling on both their chests. It only took a couple sucks before Arthur, too, was brought to his climax. He released Alfred's neck (which now sported four little holes) to scream his name, filling him with even more heat. Both trembled in each other's arms as they came down from their respective highs, their limbs loose and falling everywhere – caressing skin, carding through sweaty hair, and cupping faces so that they could share some last-minute kisses.

After kissing casually for a minute or so, Arthur decided to pull out of Alfred so that he could collapse on the boy's warm chest. He breathed in the lad's scent, enjoying it much more now than he had earlier, and splayed his fingers over Alfred's torso. He truly was a beautiful man. Arthur had been lucky to have him, at least while he had the chance. But soon it would be time for Arthur to leave, and so he mentally urged the boy to fall asleep before they could start talking. If Alfred started saying things he didn't mean in his post-orgasm haze, Arthur wasn't sure he'd be strong enough to walk away. How had he gone from hating this boy to yearning for him? The power of lust was astounding.

"I'm beat," Alfred sighed, kneading Arthur's spine.

"Mm," Arthur agreed. He blinked sleepily, though he knew he couldn't sleep.

"I guess I'll just sleep here, then," Alfred said. Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. Poor lad.

"Do what you wish," Arthur said, trying to sound cold and instead sounding mollified.

Alfred yawned loudly and wrapped his arms even more tightly around Arthur's sweaty form, still careful to avoid touching his injuries. In all honesty, Arthur could hardly feel them anymore. He only felt Alfred's body against his, Alfred's arms around him, Alfred's breath blowing softly against his hair…

He closed his eyes and swallowed a contented mewl, drowning his thoughts with the sound of Alfred's snores until the wilds pulled him away.

* * *

"My friends," Francis addressed the town, cape billowing in the breeze like a blue pin-striped flag, "we have endured much as a people. We have suffered at the hands of the unknown and the unholy!"

"AMEN!" the townsfolk cheered.

"We have been deceived by those who look like us! But they are not our kind, my friends," he continued.

"AMEN!" they cheered again, and a couple of folks glanced around suspiciously. No one was innocent in the eyes of the paranoid.

"But I am here to tell you, good townfolk, that my people – the Enfants du Soleil – are on their way now to rid this town of everything you have come to fear! They will tear these people – nay, not people – these _beasts_ from their hovels and drag them to the gallows to await your mercy!"

"BONNEFOY!"

"On that glorious day when they pull ashore, monsters like Lord Kirkland will never sleep among you again!"

"BONNEFOY!"

"Will you join me now, friends?! Will you join me in purging this town of its sin?!"

"WE WILL!" they cheered, raising their children in the air and holding their loved ones close. "WE WILL! WE WILL! WE WILL!"

Francis smiled in pride, standing atop the gallows as a judge, an executioner, and a freedom fighter all in one. The lady Lorraine was amongst the crowd, her gaze enticing his attention. His eyes met hers and he suddenly felt as if a weight was sitting on his chest – clutching his heart and squeezing for all its worth. The sun beat down, but the sweat beading on the Frenchman's brow had nothing to do with the weather outside. There was a fire in his soul now, burning out of control as if placed there by a demon. Francis lifted his face to the sky as the people celebrated his news, blinded by the rays of heaven.

Matthew watched from the back of the mob, a solitary ship caught at sea. His eyes, a softer blue than Alfred's, grew dim with sadness. He turned away from the fierce image of the Frenchman on the scaffold, reflecting on his rotten luck, for he had met a siren out of water.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note:_

I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. ;_; But I have no intention to abandon this fic. It should be updated again soon, along with _Follow the Bluelines_.

Enjoy!

* * *

The sails of four gallant ships - blue and gold and reflecting the warm light of the rising sun - sailed into the village harbor on a cold November morning. Villagers crowded the docks as if expecting the coming of the next messiah, and Alfred and Matthew were among the gathered. The boys tore through the masses until they reached the edge of the dock, though they were still far enough away that they couldn't see the faces of the French immigrants. Matthew grabbed Alfred's hand, keeping him close as people shifted and dashed to the opposite side of the harbor, crowing loudly and excitedly for the arrival of the Enfants du Soleil.

"What vessels," Alfred noted wide-eyed; he'd never seen such a luxurious boat before.

"Mhm," Matthew nodded, eyes fixed on a blonde ponytail weaving through the crowds. Francis looked stunning, dressed head to toe in silver-plated armor and blue stripes. Matthew was certain he could detect traces of gold embellishment on the man's figure; it caught the light and nearly blinded him.

"He thinks he's so great," Alfred taunted. Matthew rolled his eyes. A month had passed since Francis had stood atop the scaffold and announced his plans for the beasts of the village, since Alfred had spent a _long_ night with Arthur Kirkland. He hadn't told his brother what exactly happened in the cemetery, only that he found Kirkland and passed out before anything could come from it. Matthew wasn't a fool – he knew something else had happened in that crypt, and if the leftover traces of sex in Alfred's laundry were anything to go by…

Needless to say, Matthew had avoided mentioning Arthur at all costs. The vampire hadn't appeared to either of them since that night, but that didn't mean he wasn't still lurking around. Whatever had happened between his brother and Kirkland couldn't have meant anything, though the possibilities left Matthew feeling betrayed and heartbroken. He loved his brother, but there was only so much carelessness he could tolerate. Sleeping with the creature that killed Renate – that was unforgivable.

"Mattie?" Alfred's voice broke Matthew from his thoughts. "You're staring at him."

"I'm not," Matthew snapped, face growing hot. "His damn suit is too shiny."

"Easily distracted?" The question was like a sword, sharp and clearly double-edged.

"Hardly," Matthew sighed, grabbing Alfred's arm and tugging him away from some of the more rambunctious townsfolk. A group of men who smelled of cheap wine were shouting profanities about _witchersss_ and _vumpeers_. Matthew longed for the ability to close his ears at will.

Crowds started growing quiet as they inched closer to the largest of the four ships, and upon looking up Matthew could see why. A figure, somewhat stocky and clearly well-fed, was riding down the ramp on the back of a strapping black stallion. Though Matthew's initial impression was that this man was pampered and less a soldier than a politician, he readily admitted that the man had the posture of a leader. Every move was brimming with arrogance, every side-glance or smirk breathed with self-belief and purpose, and Matthew was surprised to find himself almost intimidated by the man on his devil-like steed. He and Alfred shared a look, though Alfred looked more amused than anything else.

"Come on, we've dealt with people like this before," he muttered under his breath.

"Hush," Matthew whispered.

"This guy's just another pompous -,"

"- Alfred!" Matthew warned again.

The stallion reached the end of the ramp, and the man pulled the reigns. Everything grew silent, almost in a surreal kind of way, while the man surveyed the ocean of townsfolk unfurled before him. Francis quickly rushed up to greet him, but to Matthew's surprise the man appeared almost disgusted by the sight of the beautiful hunter. Francis bowed courteously, and then stepped up to the man's horse, arms open in a gesture of welcome, but the man grabbed Francis's collar instead – holding him in place with every bit of displeasure present on his pudgy, scarred face.

"Bonnefoy," the man growled. Francis swallowed hard.

"Ah, Bruno! Your strength is…ah, _unforgiving_."

"What's happening?" Matthew whispered. He felt Alfred shrug beside him. The man, Bruno was his name, released his grip so that Francis fell backwards onto his ass. A grimace flashed across his face, but it was gone when he pulled himself back to his feet. After dusting off his knees and backside, Francis saluted Bruno with five fingers to his temple.

"Don't give me that salute, Bonnefoy," Bruno laughed in a voice as gruff and unkind as Matthew's father early in the morning. "You told me you understood the conditions of your banishment, and yet you have the gall to wear that armor and call me brother. You're lucky I even deigned to respond to that blasted letter of yours."

"Monsieur," Francis barked, face turning red with shame and humiliation, "I have worked for the good of our organization on this continent. I have tracked witches and vampires. I have killed and inspired, and all in your name."

"And what of your recent targets? Let them escape, too?" Bruno mocked, clicking his tongue. Matthew noticed other soldiers making their way down the ramp behind Bruno. They carried a flag – blue, a white sun in the center with golden rays extending from either side of it. Francis glanced at them, glanced up at Bruno, and finally looked down in shame. Bruno clicked his tongue again and kicked his heels, shoving Francis out of the way with his horse as he charged through the crowd like a knife through butter. His soldiers followed behind him, some sparing pitying glances at Francis, some smirking cruelly at him, and some simply looking straight ahead. Francis attempted to follow, but the crowd swallowed the soldiers before he could push his way through. Matthew had never seen the man look so downtrodden before.

"Good people, gracious people!" Bruno bellowed over a sea of awed faces. "My name is Bruno Legrand," he dipped his head, "and I am here to claim your city for God!" The town erupted in excited cheering, particularly the drunken men towards the end of the dock. They seemed loudest of all. "I believe you are already familiar with Francis Bonnefoy," he gestured to Francis, "though I ask, non, I _implore_ you to look to the Enfants du Soleil when in need. This man is little more than a pretender, a traitor to everything we stand for! He cannot protect you from the evils of this world, but I – Bruno Legrand – promise you that I will, with the honor of heaven, cleanse your souls and the soul of this continent."

The people cheered again; young ladies were tossing flowers to the soldiers while men were lifting their children to their shoulders. Francis, once shrouded in light and the glory of heaven, had become little more than a dying ember in the last ten minutes. He stared at his feet, wisps of hair covering his face and billowing in the wind.

"Never thought I'd feel bad for that asshole," Alfred remarked, "but he had it coming."

"Did he?" Matthew sighed. Alfred raised a brow at him, but ultimately shrugged and grabbed his hand, pulling him backwards into the crowd. "Where are we going?"

"It's getting colder. We need to get one last hunt in before these guys start patrolling the woods," he whispered. Matthew nodded and glanced around nervously before following Alfred as he pushed through some unreasonably excited ladies. Were Frenchmen _really_ that attractive? Luckily, no one appeared to notice them leaving, and so Matthew could safely assume no one would find it suspicious either that they weren't as doe-eyed over the arrival of the Enfants du Soleil. Matthew allowed himself to look back once, shivering in the crisp morning air as a sea of silver rippled before him.

* * *

"There has to be _something_. There has to be," Matthew whined, settling himself on his back paws and sniffing the air. His stomach rumbled, a painful reminder that soon he and Alfred would be on their own. Papa's leftovers could only last them so long.

Tino would be leaving shortly due to the changing weather, migrating south with his mermaid companions and Berwald at his side. Back when Alfred and Matthew were younger, neither Tino nor Berwald would dare leave the children to their own devices in the middle of winter. It became much harder for werewolves and other predators to feed themselves, especially with Ludwig's pack running about. What's more, Alfred and Matthew's russet fur stuck out terribly against the white snow, leaving them open to hunters and the like. Sometimes Alfred and Matthew would go with them to Mermaid Cove, and sometimes Berwald stayed behind with them so Tino could have his alone time with his friends.

Papa rarely got to swim nowadays, Matthew thought to himself. Getting away would be good for him.

 _But_ it would not be good for him or Alfred if they couldn't find enough meat to stock up for the winter. There were only so many times they could risk shifting outside, especially now that four shiploads of hunters had arrived from France.

"Found some deer tracks," Alfred sniffed, carrying a rabbit he'd caught earlier in his jaws. The thing looked tiny and frail; Matthew doubted there was enough meat there for a pup, let alone Alfred.

"Best follow them," Matthew sighed, lightly trotting through the brush. Many of the leaves had already fallen, making the forest tortoiseshell. Some of the older leaves cracked beneath Matthew's paws, making him wince as he tried his hardest to step lightly. The woods were beautiful this time of year, and he'd originally expected him and Alfred to have better luck considering their coats were almost perfectly camouflaged among the various reds and oranges. However, the deer tracks they were currently following were kind of difficult to see, and the scent was faint. The deer had probably already moved on.

"Smell that?" Matthew's ears pricked at Alfred's tone. His voice had gone low, so low that Matthew almost felt the urge to crouch among the leaves. He sniffed the air again, catching the stale whiff of blood. The closer they crept the more clearly they could detect it – the blood of a doe – until the poor thing lay at their feet, dried blood encrusting most of its neck.

"This wasn't done by a werewolf," Matthew noted urgently, though the smell of Ludwig's pack was fresh in the area. It was their territory, after all. Matthew wanted to turn and lead Alfred away, though he doubted they would be in serious trouble with Ludwig. They might have not been in the pack, but they were assured allies. Ludwig was a patriot in a sense; he helped others of his kind.

"…Arthur?" Alfred asked disbelievingly. Matthew stiffened initially, the fur on his back raising as he turned to confront the vampire. But after looking around frantically, Matthew realized that Arthur was not there. He _had_ been there, if the scent suddenly burning in Matthew's nostrils was any indication. His lips curled back as he snarled.

"No. He can't be back," he turned to face Alfred, a low rumbling in his chest. "Don't tell me he's come back for _you_!"

"He hasn't!" Alfred snapped, the rabbit falling from his jaws. He looked panicked, but Matthew could hear excitement in his tone.

"Oh…my… _God,_ " Matthew stared at him in horror. "You… _You still want to see him._ "

"No," Alfred quickly dismissed, shoving past Matthew and burying his nose into the doe's fur - probably trying to see how fresh Arthur's scent was, Matthew decided enraged.

"Oh, what? What?!" He barked, lifting on his hind legs and crashing into Alfred – sending him rolling away from the doe. Alfred rolled back to his feet and turned to face his brother, his eyes wide and kind of pissed. He growled a warning, but didn't charge at Matthew.

"Watch it," he warned, holding his head high.

"What?!" Matthew repeated, "He fucks you once after trying to kill you over and over and _over_ again, and you crawl back to him like a whore? Are you insane? Do you have respect left, Alfred? For yourself? For your race? For _me_?" he snapped, shaking his head back and forth.

Alfred lifted a paw to approach Matthew, though he was still pissed. He should just shove Matthew back and take off – fuck dinner. But he knew their parents would kill him if he ever did that, and while it may not have seemed like it at the moment, Alfred was still the older brother. Matthew would always be his responsibility.

And, despite his pride, he supposed Matthew did have a point. What he and Arthur had done that night – it _had_ to be lust. He sure as fuck didn't like Arthur, just like he sure as fuck didn't like Ivan. But that didn't mean he couldn't still hate them and get some tail too, he reasoned to himself. Matthew was overreacting. Alfred didn't give a damn about Arthur. He barely even _knew_ him.

At this point Matthew was just shaking his head back and forth, muttering something like _no, no, no_ out of frustration or…or maybe grief for Alfred's soul, or something.

"Damn it, Alfred," Matthew hissed, shifting back into his human form and rubbing eyelids with his palms. "You drive me crazy sometimes."

Alfred didn't shift back. Instead, he just kind of stood there awkwardly, one paw lifted as if he was going to approach Matthew. He placed it back on the ground and flicked his tail impatiently.

"I know it probably didn't mean anything," Matthew sighed, tangling his fingers in the grass, "I'm sorry I lost my temper. That's usually _your_ department. But this is dangerous," he said, eyes burning into Alfred's. "You've been obsessed with him ever since the night of that party. I feel like I'm losing my brother here, and…and it _scares_ me," he finished.

"Mattie," Alfred whined, slightly annoyed because Mattie was trying to have a heart-to-heart while Alfred's stomach was making dying-whale noises.

"Just," Matthew inhaled, holding his hand out to silence Alfred, "Just promise me that you won't mention him again. Ever. He's gone and I'm tired of hearing about him."

Alfred wanted to point out that Arthur clearly wasn't gone, the dead doe laying in front of them being a prime example of that, but he kept his mouth shut lest Matthew throw another spontaneous temper-tantrum. Honestly, Alfred had never seen his brother so angry before. Anger wasn't attractive on Matthew. It just didn't fit him.

The rumbling off pawsteps grabbed the attention of Alfred and Matthew before the discussion could go any further. Three wolves were approaching them, their scents familiar and usually welcome. However, neither brother found himself eager to report to Ludwig.

 _Especially not about Arthur_ , Alfred thought. Ludwig would sooner burn the forest down than let werewolves fraternize with vampires.

"We heard a tussle," Ludwig explained as he marched into the clearing.

He was about the same size as Alfred and Matthew, except perhaps with a bit more muscle. His fur gleamed a brilliant tawny in the sunlight, dark ringlets circling the cuffs of his ears. Two wolves trotted on either side of him, Feli and Kiku. Feli was much smaller than Ludwig, but Alfred knew from experience that he was good with his claws. He had the speed where Ludwig had the strength. His fur was also russet, much like Alfred or Matthew's, though it was a lighter hue. Kiku had always possessed the intelligence, Alfred knew. The two had met when they were only pups, and they had been good friends ever since. Kiku used to come up with elaborate schemes to get Alfred and Matthew both in and out of trouble, but then Ludwig had recruited him for his pack. Kiku had stopped being fun after that. His coat was a sleek and glossy black, Alfred noted, no longer scruffy and caked in mud like it had been when they were pups.

"Sorry man, that was us," Alfred shrugged, shifting back into his human form and falling backwards on the ground. He placed his hands behind his head in a gesture of total relaxation, ignoring the glare spared to him by Mattie.

"Apologies, Ludwig," Matthew sighed, rubbing his temple. "We had a disagreement and I charged at Alfred."

"Must have been spirited," Ludwig decided, the smirk evident in his voice. "I'm glad you're finally reigning him in, Matthew."

"Ain't nobody 'reining me in', dude," Alfred huffed, rolling onto his stomach and looking up at Ludwig defiantly. The wolf seemed unperturbed by Alfred's lack of manners, though Matthew wanted to throttle his brother.

"Alfred, you're getting the scent of vampire all over you," Kiku pipped up from Ludwig's side. Alfred instantly stopped rolling. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"I assume you already know what did this," Ludwig nodded to the doe carcass.

"Yes," Matthew said, stepping forward, "the vampire Arthur Kirkland. Alfr- _We_ …followed his trail a few weeks back and assumed he'd left town."

"Unfortunately, you assumed wrong," Feli whined, lowering his ears. "Gah, I hate vampires. Lud, tell them what we're doing tonight!" Ludwig flicked his tail over Feli's nose to calm his excited trembling.

"Easy, Feli." He turned back to Alfred and Matthew. "We intend to hunt Arthur Kirkland down - finally put an end to this nonsense."

"H-Hunt him down?" Alfred echoed disbelievingly. "But…why?!"

Alfred ignored Matthew's glare, ignored that the question probably hurt his brother on some level. He wasn't even sure why he was so concerned with Arthur in the first place. After all, this was the vampire who killed Renate. But Alfred knew, knew after the night he and Arthur shared, that they had created some sort of bond that couldn't be explained. It was true that Alfred felt attached to Arthur, as much as he longed not to. Whatever happened when Arthur bit into his neck - that feeling of euphoria that they experienced together - it resonated with Alfred.

And, let's face it, Arthur was…kind of beautiful. I mean, Alfred was a damn fine werewolf, but Arthur was pretty easy on the eyes himself. Alfred wasn't sure if he had the will to close those eyes, not after seeing them glazed over in lust, not after knowing them for those hours.

"I figured that wouldn't need asking," Ludwig stated firmly, though his eyes leaked suspicion. Shit.

"He's a vampire, Alfred," Kiku said gently, "a threat to everything and everyone in the village. He killed Renate," he nodded to Matthew, "and he'll certainly kill again."

"He's not the only threat," Alfred sighed, running a hand through his bangs. "I think we should deal with the 'Knights of the Baguette' or whatever," Alfred jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "They're the ones who want to hang us all."

"Actually, they want to burn us," Feli sighed. "That's what they do over in Europe."

"Which is why it has become too dangerous to hunt in the daylight," Ludwig agreed, "And why I implore both of you to exercise extreme caution if you ever come out here again."

"You're out here," Alfred pointed out.

"And I'm putting my loved ones in danger. After this talk, Kiku, Feli, and I will remove ourselves until tonight. We will gather under The Witch's Tree. I can think of no better place for an execution," Ludwig smiled at Feli. Kiku's face seemed strangely solemn, and Alfred wondered if he was actually opposed to the hunt.

"And you want us to join you?" Alfred implored. He could hear the implication in Ludwig's tone.

"If you are feeling generous," Ludwig nodded. "Though, I know how you feel about packs. It's understandable if you refuse."

Alfred didn't appreciate the look in Ludwig's eye. Though he couldn't see his human face, which was obviously more expressive, the anticipation that Alfred and Matthew would accept was clear in the way he spoke. There was also a leftover trace of suspicion, one that Kiku seemed to mimic. It appeared to Alfred, by the way everyone was staring at _him_ , that he was the focus of this discussion. He didn't like that.

"Who else will be there?" Mattie spoke up.

"Ivan and Natalia have also agreed to join us, among others."

 _Shit._

"Alfred doesn't exactly… _get along_ with Ivan or Natalia."

"Trust me, I know of his relations with both parties."

Alfred growled, unamused.

"Alfred," Matthew said after a few moments, looking to his brother with an expression that, surprisingly, held very little emotion. Alfred only blinked as Matthew stepped forward, coming suspiciously close to him. He almost flinched away, disliking the way Matthew stared determinedly into his eyes. He knew what Matthew wanted him to do. "It's your choice."

Alfred sighed, knowing very well that it wasn't his choice. He didn't even want to consider the consequences awaiting him if they found out he had helped Arthur. And what's more, Matthew had apparently turned bloodthirsty in the past month and wasn't going to let up anytime soon. He felt like he had so many eyes on him right now, and it was only going to get worse.

"Fine," he huffed, glaring at Matthew. His glare was returned in full-force. "We'll do what you ask."

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Arthur was quite fond of babies. Truly – in the depths of his blackened heart he supposed he was a bit of a softie. What he wasn't fond of, however, was the hesitation that struck him when he came across a lone fawn wandering alone under the cover of night.

Poor tender little thing – it was so small and innocent. It was an easy meal, but that didn't make it easier on Arthur's conscience. Bloody hell, it appeared his heart had grown as soft as a boiled apple.

He was sure to make the actual killing of the fawn as quick and painless as possible.

Arthur crouched low in the grass, though unfortunately the dead leaves made it increasingly difficult to remain silent. His foot stepped on a particularly noisy leaf, startling the fawn. It raised its head and twitched its ears, then turned to flee the other way. Arthur jumped with a low hiss before it could get away, snapping its neck with his bare hands. It fell lifeless on the forest floor, and Arthur stared pitifully down at the small creature and clicked his tongue. He was sure it would get easier…someday.

The blood of animals was rather disappointing to Arthur. It was extremely bland, and some species smelled awful. Werewolves, for example, had exceptionally putrid blood. Alfred's had smelled that way at first before waves of pleasure distracted Arthur from nearly everything except the boy's throbbing pulse. Regardless, he drank the fawn dry; he was parched from hiding from the armored Frenchmen that had pulled ashore that morning, among the others in the village. He had fled south after his night with Alfred in an attempt to find Yao or Elizabeta, but to no avail. Now that he had returned – mostly to get his revenge on Bonnefoy, though also because he was a stubborn fool and didn't feel like running away – now that he had returned, he was in even greater danger than before he'd left.

After finishing his meal, and feeling slightly drowsy to boot, Arthur settled himself against a tree and stared up at the stars. He'd long since memorized the constellations, having traced them every night since he was a boy. It comforted him knowing that they might not be alone in the universe, made him feel insignificant – but in a good way. He was just about to close his eyes and let his mind wander again, but was interrupted by the smell of dog wafting from nearby. Werewolf.

Arthur realized it wasn't Alfred, much to his disappointment. He wasn't sure if the boy would be sated to see him or simply regress to wanting to kill him again, but either way it would make for an entertaining night. He wouldn't mind sleeping with boy again. Embarrassingly enough, the very thought of Alfred had consumed his more intimate moments.

But now was not the time to reflect on his sexual prowess, not when his death potentially approached him. He pulled himself to his feet and prepared to flee, but paused when he got a clearer whiff of the wolf's scent.

"Kiku?" Arthur called softly into the darkness.

Kiku stumbled into view, apparently finding it difficult to traverse the brush in his human form. He kept his hands raised until his eyes met with Arthur's, and then slowly lowered them once he was sure the vampire would not attack him.

"You're getting clumsy, my friend," Kiku chided Arthur, "I could smell you a mile away."

"I'm getting bored," Arthur grumbled defensively. He made himself comfortable by the tree again, patting the grass next to him.

"Even so, I'm glad to see you haven't gotten yourself killed yet," Kiku smiled wryly, sitting next to Arthur. For a moment, the two simply stared up at the stars together, enjoying each other's company.

"Did I ever mention to you that you smell awful?"

"At least I don't smell like death, my friend," Kiku replied. Arthur snickered.

"I am dead," he said, throwing his arms over his head and reclining back. "But enough with the morbidity. Why are you here? Doesn't your kind usually spend your nights chasing the moon?"

He ignored the glare Kiku shot him, but the werewolf also grew tense. Arthur anticipated that there was danger nearby, though he could smell nothing save for Kiku at the moment. Kiku relaxed very briefly after scanning the area, seeing very little, Arthur was certain, without a wolf's vision.

"Kiku?"

"I'm going to cut this visit short," Kiku murmured, turning to face Arthur. "You can't be out here right now. The only reason I managed to get away was because I'm one of the scouts. But the others are coming for you, Arthur."

"What others?" Arthur asked, feeling his blood run cold. He knew he had been in danger, but knowing that danger was so organized made him uneasy.

"My pack," Kiku looked remorseful. "Arthur, I know I helped you that night-,"

"-And I appreciate that you did," Arthur nodded gratefully.

"I know," Kiku sighed, "but I can't promise anything this time. You may have a few minutes, maybe half an hour if you're lucky, but they're traversing the woods as we speak. Several wolves, and all of them are hungry for a good hunt."

"Then let them come," Arthur shrugged, turning his gaze back to the stars. "I'm fast, and I'm too tired to move right now."

"Foolish," Kiku mumbled under his breath. Arthur pretended not to hear him. Kiku laughed then, definitely a fake laugh, and Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "If they knew I helped you…"

"They'd be horrified. And rightfully so," Arthur said simply. "Vampires and werewolves can never be friends."

"It's such a shame, too," Kiku said wistfully.

"Maybe someday it will change. Maybe someday the world will forget all its prejudice and everyone will hold hands and be merry," Arthur said. Kiku hummed thoughtfully.

"Maybe someday, my friend."

"Do you – _no_ ," Arthur cut himself off. He felt Kiku's gaze shift to him. The werewolf made a noise of confusion, prompting Arthur to finish his question.

"What?" Kiku had turned his head to really look at Arthur.

"Nothing," Arthur laughed dryly. "I was just mentally preparing myself for…what I mean is – _ha,"_ he trailed off, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. Kiku continued to stare at him.

"What I – I meant to ask, what about lovers?"

"Lovers?" Kiku sounded startled.

"Yes," Arthur sighed, closing his eyes. "What if they became lovers? Surely that would put an end to the prejudice…or perhaps inspire more of it."

Kiku didn't answer and Arthur knew he had said too much. The werewolf was staring at him inquisitively, and Arthur felt his own pulse racing. He knew he could trust Kiku, and yet his first instinct was to take off before…

"Arthur, why do you ask?"

"I…I mean," Arthur stuttered, his mouth going dry. "I'm thirsty."

"Arthur?" Arthur turned to look at Kiku, and his friend's eyes were hard and searching. Finally they appeared to have found what they were looking for in Arthur's face, because they widened in shock.

"Arthur, you _didn't_."

"I did," Arthur groaned, clutching at his hair. "I slept with Alfred."

Kiku looked as though he were about to say something, but his face twisted with alarm before he could manage the words. He shoved Arthur away as he stood up, facing the darkness with such concentration that Arthur expected him to shift right then. Then Arthur smelled it, too – nearly a dozen different smells, all werewolves, approached them in a cavalry. The howls soon followed, and finally the thundering of the ground pushed Arthur to take flight.

"Run Arthur!" Kiku called after him. "Don't stop until you reach the edge of the woods!"

Arthur ran, grunting with every step as the muscles in his body ached. His breath was coming and going without warning, and the woods around him appeared to close in on him – almost suffocating him.

Still, he ran. He ran as fast and as hard as his feet could carry him.

 _You're fast,_ he reassured himself. _You're just as fast as they are._

He breathed in sharply through his nose, receiving a full blast of the pack's stink. He couldn't sort through the individual scents, however. He couldn't smell Alfred. That didn't mean he wasn't with the pack.

Just as he felt comfortable that he was far enough away to slow down, only slightly of course, he realized that the thundering of paws had grown even closer. Startled, he was accidentally switched in the face with a tree branch. The scratch would heal, but the rest of his body wouldn't if he were to be caught by one of the wolves. From the corners of his eyes he thought he could see silver shadows running beside him, the moon reflecting off their fur like the flash of a silver sword.

He pushed himself harder, but then one of shadows lunged to the side and Arthur felt the breath knocked out of him as a great she-wolf took his arm in her jaws and twisted so that he was on the ground – on his back.

She crouched over him as he gasped for breath and panted desperately, squirming and hissing in between breaths. She was well-endowed with two rows of very sharp fangs, and Arthur swallowed hard when she inched her muzzle closer to his face, snapping her jaws at him in warning. He looked into her eyes as best he could, saliva dripping on his face, and he could plainly see the rage hidden behind her violent orbs.

There was no way he could converse himself out of this, no Kiku to help him out. He was dead - for real this time.


End file.
